Until You See Me Fly
by ShakespearesRhapsody
Summary: The year is 2020, and the Olympic Games are beginning in Tokyo. Everyone is teeming with excitement. Everyone except Britain's best archer Arthur Kirkland, who is still trying to recover from what happened to him in Rio with American swimmer Alfred Jones. But Arthur is here to compete, and with so much tension brewing around him the games this year are sure to never be forgotten.
1. Prologue

The world was in an energized buzz, the source of which coming from a force only experienced once every two years. The international unity- even if only for a month -was indescribable to many. How the cultures, languages, and customs of countries vastly different but somehow similar, could even come together without the usual motive of warfare.

Hardly any words can describe what it is except for its' name: The Olympics.

The time when the seven continents of Earth and their nations gather once every two years to face off in either their summer or winter sports. Tensions run high as the desire in the athletes to represent not only themselves but their home lingers in the back of their minds. With such a high intensity of competition, many believe that hostile tensions would emerge. But quite the opposite has shown through- for the audience that is.

Families travel across the globe to view, and be a part of such an event. To even a few, a new way of life is discovered.

Naturally with such an influx of people into an area- and tourists at that -the host nation gains tremendously in both money and prestige. Which is why the host this year- Japan -has gone through substantial measures to make sure everything will be faultless. That the summer games in Tokyo will be unrivaled, and a model for future games.

Mentioned earlier, many would expect hostile tensions to emerge, and also stated previously it has shown to be the opposite for the audience members. The athletes are a different matter to be discussed.

It has been in headlines before, but for the most part many think they are just peaceful stirs created by the media, with no actual tensions or conflicts. But out of the limelight and prying eyes of the media, you will find scandal of all kinds.

One story in particular, began in Rio four years previous. It was in Rio that Alfred F. Jones came in for Team U.S.A to swim, and wormed his way into the hearts of the media and athletes.

He came in at the young age of fourteen, and a plethora of people by looking at him would wonder: ' _Is this boy really on the team?'_ Alfred had unfortunately looked like the stereotypical, geeky teenager. His voice would jump when he spoke, pimples adored his bespeckled face, and even though he had a nice body considering his field of exercise, was on the chubbier side. The amount who thought ill of him at first were many, but all that changed at the trials.

It was there they saw Alfred fly.

Once the race began, Alfred lost himself in the water. His strokes were carried with such excellence, grace, and confidence those watching forgot he was not a professional like those in the lane next to him. Then when it came to Alfred's favorite stroke- the butterfly -he dominated the water.

Jones was almost immediately placed on the American Olympic Swim Team after the trials, and by the time Rio came was already predicted by the athletic community to be the next Michael Phelps or Ryan Lochte. This prediction was submitted as a serious possibility when Alfred came in first in the 100 fly and smashed its' record, while also coming close to winning the 200 fly, 100 free, and 200 free.

Alfred became a household name not only from being outstanding in the water, but for his charming, dorky personality. After being interviewed several times by various programs, the public fell in love with the goofy, down-to-Earth, happy, and exuberant American.

But not everyone loved Alfred.

In Rio, those watching noticed a tension brewing between two other competitors with the young American. One of them was noticed by the public at the first race Jones was to do: the 100 free, which he barely came in second to. The winner being a twenty-two Frenchman named Francis Bonnefoy.

From then on it became obvious a rivalry had formed, especially after Alfred beat the Frenchman in the 100 fly. After which, Francis made sure he stayed in first, even if he did so barely, and was to the point of exhaustion afterwards. There were rumors of all kinds about the two for a while, but nothing was ever confirmed until an interview took place soon after the swimming was done. Nobody dared to forget it. The question of a rivalry emerged, and Alfred- forever unable to read the atmosphere -bluntly stated that in Tokyo he would win, and that even though Francis was a friend, he was confident he would be better than him by the time the next games rolled around.

Francis- who had not been challenged like this since he rose to fame in London -naturally did not take this proclamation of being defeated by this loud-mouthed _American_ too well. So with a coy smile, the man remarked he would make sure Alfred would not win in Tokyo, even if he had to intervene personally.

Because of this rivalry that the media focused heavily on, most of the population was unaware of the other relationship Alfred had brewed in Rio. This one had started as a fanboy obsession, with Alfred being the latter.

This obsession Alfred had was with the most remarkable archer to ever compete in Olympic history. That archer being Britain's own Arthur Kirkland.

The Brit rose to Olympic stardom the same time Francis did in London at the age of fifteen, and was praised for his skill. While Arthur was more introverted and a grouch, at London he brought his native land glory. Winning a gold medal in the sport, which had not been done for Team Great Britain since 1908. When Rio came around, Arthur was more than prepared to beat his previous record. But then came a little annoying git almost knocking him over in a café in the Olympic Village.

Alfred had apologized profusely- he and fencer Kiku Honda of Japan were new and apparently were just trying to a bathroom -but when Arthur lifted his eyes up with brows furrowed, ready to yell, Alfred's eyes lit up in wonder. The fourteen year old looked up to Arthur as a role-model, because Arthur had come into London as a young contestant like Alfred had been doing in Rio. So when he proceeded to talk the Brit's ear off and follow him like a puppy, Arthur was more than annoyed. Nevertheless, Arthur never had that many friends growing up- or ever -and enjoyed the new companion.

Arthur's three older brothers ignored/tortured him endlessly when he was younger. Really the closest thing he had to friendship in his life was with Francis, as they grew up together. Even then it was a rivalry more than anything. Both were always at each other's throats, and tried to outdo each other in every way possible. When they would visit each other, a mixture of chaos would follow.

If it was Francis, his mother, and little sister Lisa visiting, he would wake to bugs in his hair, or arrows shot at him the minute he stepped outside. Sometimes the Kirkland brothers would actually work together to make the Frenchman's life a living hell. But when the Kirkland's would visit the little chateau of the Bonnefoys, the tables turned.

Poor Arthur's misery would only increase as his brothers still continued to tease him, and then Francis was on home territory. The worst was whenever Francis' friends came over as well: Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, and Gilbert Beilschmidt. With the trio there, Arthur found himself chased, prodded, and punched until he could find a way to escape.

Both were somewhat civil to each other after a series of events brought them together,- no one but the families knew what brought them closer -and now both were doing excellent in their fields. Sometimes they even would go out to drink with each other. At London they did just that after the games, swearing they would top each other at Rio.

But neither could have anticipated the wild card thrown at them. With the latter meaning something different to both of them. While Alfred became Francis' rival, he became the closest thing Arthur ever had to a younger brother. Which, even though Arthur would never admit it, thrilled the Brit more than words could describe. However, after Alfred had defeated Francis in the 100 fly, Alfred grew busier than ever and didn't come around and see Arthur as often. Fed up with the boy, Arthur boldly told Alfred he couldn't be around anyone but him. Alfred didn't take this information well, and fired back saying he could be friends with people other than Arthur because he could actually keep them, unlike the grumpy Brit.

It began an enormous topic of discussion in the Olympic Village that somehow escaped the media's attention. Athletes even began to take sides in the affair. But Arthur lost his so called 'war' when Francis surprised everyone and took Alfred's side.

Arthur was devastated from the loss of his so called 'brother,' and was only cheered up by Alfred's actual twin brother who played hockey for the Canadian team during the winter games: Matthew Williams. Then Arthur used his leftover emotions to destroy the competition in Rio. Setting a new record and earning himself two more medals.

As the rest of the games when on, both Alfred and Arthur made up- shakily. But nothing was the same between the two. Alfred realized there was a lot about himself to figure out, and Arthur swallowed himself in training. More focused than ever to be the best archer.

And with the start of the 2020 games in Tokyo, everyone held their breath to see what happened not only between the two, but with the dangerous rivalry as well.


	2. Chapter One: The English Archer

_**I do not own anything.**_

* * *

So far Arthur was unimpressed by Tokyo.

The twenty-three year old sat in the back of a taxi cab staring at the dreary skies, stained grey with a light peppering of showers falling; here he thought that the eastern city would be less rainy than his home in England. Then again the rain always comforted Arthur, and even though he appeared cool and calm on the outside, he was bubbling with nerves. After all, many were surprised he even came.

"We are almost there Mr. Kirkland," the cab driver said, in very rough and broken English. Arthur nodded.

"Splendid, thank you." The cab driver smiled at him, and then focused again on the road. Arthur sighed, and laid the corner of his forehead on the window, peering outside at the buildings flashing by.

Arthur Kirkland would seem like a normal man to anyone sparing a glance at him. He was golden-haired, of normal height with caterpillar thick eyebrows. To many his best feature was his emerald-green eyes. A handsome young man with a permanent scowl, with his arms crossed in most social situations. However, he was different from other men his age.

What was special about the young Englishman was his four Olympic medals, as he was one of the best archers in the world. Arthur was famous for his performance in both the London Games in 2012, and the games in Rio in 2016. Soon to be Tokyo now in 2020…. Hopefully.

Looking out, Arthur could see billboards and advertisements for the Olympic Games on almost every surface. The Japanese were more than excited for the world to be visiting them in the next few weeks. Arthur, while he was at the airport, had practically been mobbed by an adoring crowd. Some even went as far as to dress up like him- which flattered and shocked the Brit beyond belief. While they were excited, Arthur found his enthusiasm lacking.

It was not that he wouldn't get fired up about the games, it is just that his excitement came around in moments. Like when he was walking in the parade, watching a friend compete, or when he was stepping up to release his shot. His excitement was also hindered by the idea of a conversation about what happened in Rio. Between his worries, rain, and jetlag the Brit found himself dozing off in the backseat.

The nap didn't last long, as a few minutes later he found himself being shaken awake by the cab driver. "Mr. Kirkland we are here at the Olympic Village."

Arthur groaned and nodded, as he got up and collected his bag off the floor. Stepping outside he found himself in front of the building he was to be staying in for a month. It was a large building, made of one way glass with what looked like a garden nearby, but not much else could be told from it do to the rain pouring down his spine. Quickly both the Englishman and the cab driver made their way into the main foyer. With a quick goodbye and a tip, the cab and its' driver were gone. Leaving a groggy Arthur alone in the lobby.

The area was actually very spacious, with a receptionist desk to his left and a lounge area in front of him with chairs and couches surrounding a high definition television. Passed the receptionist, and to the left of this lounge was only one lift and a lavatory. To his right was a few more chairs and a table with a mini snack bar and what appeared to be an _actual_ bar. Perking up immediately- while also sensing this was too good to be true - -the Brit walked over and subtly leaned over its' counter to see if there was any spirits stocked there. Finding it was nothing more than decoration, Arthur swore out loud.

"Umm, excuse me sir? Arthur Kirkland of Great Britain, yes?" The receptionist asked him with a slight accent. Her voice startled the Brit, turning his face cherry-red from embarrassment as he realized she had been watching him the whole time.

"Y-Yes, I am. Is there any forms I need to fill? Why did you not speak up sooner?" Arthur angrily asked, and gribbed his bag tighter.

"I just need some photo identification, and I thought you looked preoccupied with the prospect of alcohol and did not wish to disturb you," she said with a smile. Still slightly embarrassed, Arthur walked over to her and fished out his passport, showing it to the woman with a frown. She was young, with long dark hair that had a few pink flowers in it. After nodding and typing something into her computer, she handed him a key card with the Olympic logo on both sides.

"Your room is on floor twenty four, room number two. Just scan this in the elevator and then at your room," she said sweetly. Arthur nodded.

"Alright, thank you."

The receptionist smirked at him. "Oh and Mr. Kirkland?"

"Yes?" Arthur said, grabbing his luggage in one hand.

"You do realize that alcohol consumption is banned on the premise?" She said quirking an eyebrow, and glancing back between him and the bar he was staring at earlier.

Once again Arthur's face turned red. "I am perfectly aware. I was… just glancing," Arthur muttered.

She gave him a knowing look. "Whatever makes you sleep better at night Mr. Kirkland. Just know that you will be banned from competing if any alcoholic beverage is found on your person." With that she moved back to her computer, typing something into it rapidly.

Arthur huffed, his face burning from embarrassment, and walked over to the lift with his luggage. Clicking the down arrow, he waited for the contraption to come to him. Arthur sighed deeply, and pulled out his mobile phone when he saw that the lift was coming down from the thirtieth floor. He opened up various social media sites and soon became engrossed in them.

The Internet had a way of trapping one relatively quickly, and with so many people traveling now for the games it became more enticing than ever. Going through one site alone, Arthur saw that his friend Elizabeta had just left Hungary and was on her flight here. In fact, Arthur was so absorbed he did not notice that someone else had entered the lobby. Nor did he hear the smooth French accent and the giggle of the receptionist. The obvious Brit didn't even notice this newcomer approach him. It was not until he felt a hand groping his bottom did he snap out of his repertoire and realize who was there.

"Frog! Let go of me now!" Arthur yelled as he spun on his heels to face his attacker, who only laughed in response.

Standing there wearing the latest style from Paris, was no other than Olympic swimmer Francis Bonnefoy. Arthur had known the Frenchman since he was in his cradle, and the two had not only grown up together but had also used their skills in athletics to ride all the way to the Olympics in London. Arthur in archery, and Francis in swimming.

Their relationship with each other was a strange one. To the media it was an intense childhood rivalry that had only escalated as they grew older. To some they were secret lovers. In reality no one really knew, not even Arthur and Francis. If you would ask either of the two both would deny it heartily with similar excuses. Even if they didn't know what their relationship was and refuted any notion that they actually cared for one another, anyone that would look at them knew that both men looked after each other. At least, they did before Rio. Before Francis had taken the American swimmer Alfred F. Jones' side in one of the most heated fiascos the Olympic community had ever seen. After which Arthur had distanced himself from everyone, and became a borderline alcoholic for a while.

Francis laughed at the uptight Brit. "Mon Lapin! I have not seen you in so long. How have you been?" He pulled a strand of his wet shoulder length blond hair away from his face as he looked at the Brit. The fact that the frog's precious hair was not spared from the rain lightened Arthur's mood.

The man scoffed. "I will never understand on why you insist upon calling me your bunny, and for your information I am perfectly fine. Never better in fact. I only wish your wine-loving arse would stay away from mine."

"Cher you wound me. I thought we were friends. Say, have your monsters of eyebrows gotten even thicker since I last saw you?" Francis asked with a smirk, as his fingers scratched his stubble in a thinker's pose.

"It is in your wildest dreams that I'd be friends with you Frog, and my eyebrows are not thick nor have they changed," Arthur muttered, as his impenetrable eyebrows furrowed down at the comment. As if they were offended.

Francis' suddenly had a lewd smile of his face. "Ohonhon, you know you are always in my dreams Lapin," Francis winked, and Arthur's face burned red.

"Why you cheeky, perverted-" The conversation was cut short as the lift opened. The two looked at each other as they dragged their luggage onto it. "What floor?" Arthur asked, the previous exchange already forgotten between the two.

"Twenty-three, are we the same eyebrows?"

Arthur scanned his card against the sensor and clicked both of their floors. "Thank God no," Francis chuckled.

"You don't know how deeply that crushes me. I would have _loved_ to share another room with you like we did in London," Francis pulled another piece of his hair away from his face.

"I try to forget the trauma you caused me there. I never knew one could get so blistering pissed but you, Gilbert, and Antonio proved me wrong at four in the morning. When _normal_ people are trying to sleep," Arthur muttered, eyeing the numbers slowly going up.

"Ah, but if I remember correctly it was you that snuck the alcohol in, took two sips, and passed out onto the bed. Not before saying the most delightful obscenities, however," he replied with a smug grin. His blue eyes twinkling.

"I have no recollection of what you speak of. A gentleman would never do such a thing. Besides, the receptionist already gave me a threat about having alcohol this year," Arthur fired back.

Francis smirked. "Really? I received no such warning, instead I got the lovely femme's number."

"Probably to get your sorry ass away from her and kicked from the games," Arthur retorted, glad that the lift was going up quickly enough so that their floors would be coming soon. Francis seemed to realize this too, and only hummed in response.

The two passed three floors in silence before Francis spoke again, and when he did it was quieter. "Lapin, how have you been since Rio? I worry about you."

Arthur shifted, and looked at the Frenchman from the corner of his eyes and saw that Francis' azure eyes bored into his emerald ones. This is the exact conversation he had wanted to avoid.

The archer sighed. "I'm perfectly fine Francis, no need to lose your precious beauty sleep over me. Besides, you never have worried about me before," Arthur muttered, wishing that the lift would go faster.

Francis shook his head. "I truly did after that happened. You did well at Rio, but you looked so crushed afterwards. I thought that maybe you were still hung up over Alfred-"

"Don't even Francis," Arthur spoke bitterly. "I don't care for him more than a common acquaintance. I was fine at Rio, and I am fine now. Not that you care. You took his side in the matter remember?"

"Oui I did, but I have my reasons," the lift buzzed, giving Arthur relief that the discussion was over for now.

The doors opened on Francis' floor, and he gathered his stuff and made his way out into the hallway as the doors began to close. But before they did, he placed a hand over them. He turned to look at Arthur, his expression serious. "That does not mean I do not care for you. Whether you believe it or not you're my closest friend. Even more so than Gil or Toni," Francis looked at Arthur, who stared back monotone. Blocking himself from the man in front of him. Francis knew that face, and the swimmer only sighed as he took his hand off the doors. As they closed he muttered to the archer: "See you at the ceremonies." Leaving Arthur alone for the next few flights.

The Brit pushed the conversation from his mind, as the lift opened on his floor. Finding his room quickly, he scanned the card and entered. It was a fairly nice room with two twin beds like London, but it was not near as bland as the white prison walls he had to endure at his first games. Looking back at the beds, his mind briefly wandered on who his roommate would be. However, his mind moved quickly, and soon enough he had forgotten all about the idea.

Arthur slammed his bag on the bed closest to the bathroom on the right, and began unpacking his clothes. Placing them in the closet and drawer next to his bed. However, his mind betrayed him as he began placing his personals around, drifting to the conversation he shared with the swimmer in the lift.

' _I'm fine,'_ he told himself, ' _I am over Rio and Alfred. We are merely acquaintances now, Francis doesn't know anything.'_ But Arthur knew he was lying to himself. After the fight with Alfred he had sunk farther into himself, and it is by some miracle he was able to perform so well at Rio. Debatably, the one who kept him from drinking himself to oblivion after the scandal was Matthew Williams, Alfred's older twin brother.

The Brit sighed deeply as he finished unpacking and laid down on the bed. If he was honest with himself, Arthur had debated on coming back to the games just because of what had happened at Rio. Many of the athletes knew of Alfred and Arthur's "war." However, they only saw the surface. While it was true Arthur was being a _bit_ possessive over his new 'little brother' and telling the strong-willed boy he couldn't be friends with anyone but him _might_ have been over the line, it was the fight on the last night of the games that brought their relationship to where it was now. The arguing, fighting, and-

No. Arthur shut his mind down. Like he always did when he thought of that night in Rio. So, he did what he did best: ignore the conflict at hand. Let his older, _wiser_ self deal with it. After all, Arthur had to redeem himself and fulfill his original goal. To beat the world record, and make Olympic history.

Pushing his own feelings back in the corner of his mind to deal with at a future date, Arthur went back to the task at hand. Which was unpacking the rest of his things. Something else as well. What was it? Oh yes. Seeing who was to be sharing a room with him.

But as he thought this, he heard the beep of a scanner, and the door to his room opened with a loud, obnoxious voice walking in behind it. Arthur's question no longer needed an answer, as he knew _exactly_ who it was.

 **A.N: Hello, hello, hello! I have had this idea for so long it's kind of ridiculous. I want to make a little note here about the Olympic Village. I have no idea what it looks like XD. There are proposed models for the village in Tokyo, but nothing is confirmed. I am going to take some artistic liberty and use things from the other villages like London where they had the twin bunks.**

 **Another note: I am not from the UK and so if I have Arthur say the wrong thing such as apartment instead of flat, let me know.**

 **This is my first fanfiction so please give me some input with a review.**

 **Thank you for reading!**

 **Published: May 1, 2016**


	3. Chapter Two: A New Resolve

_**I do not own anything.**_

* * *

Among the Olympic athletes there is a close inner community that breaks down to form different friend groups. Generally, however, most of the athletes stay within their own team or if they do branch out they find someone of a similar culture or language. Of course some athletes are known all across the community no matter where they're from such as: Michael Phelps or Usain Bolt. They are the athletes who have rose to fame, and have marked themselves in the history books.

Gilbert Beilschmidt is one of those athletes.

It is not because of his career that he is widely known- even though he is excellent at it -but because one can't go through the village without hearing the "awesome Prussian's" obnoxious mouth. So when the man came charging through Arthur's room he, unfortunately, knew exactly who it was.

The Prussian- so he claims -came into the room and stopped in his tracks when he saw Arthur glaring at him from the bed. This shock didn't last longer than two seconds, because when he recognized that it was the Brit the widest smirk came across his features. Slouching against the door he laughed.

"Kesesese, its Artie-poo. I didn't think you would be coming back after the embarrassment you brought yourself," Gilbert said, Arthur's eyes narrowed.

"You want to talk about personal embarrassment Beilschmidt? Need I remind you when Elizabeta beat you with a frying pan?" Gilbert's smile faltered a bit, as remembered the Hungarian fencer's anger. Few people on this Earth could provoke fear in the Prussian's heart. One being his father, his uncle Frederick, his little brother when angry, and Elizabeta Hedervary.

"Yeah well that might be true, but she is also crazy."

Arthur shrugged. "I can't really argue with you there." The Prussian laughed loudly at this and sat down on the bed next Arthur who only scooted further away.

Gilbert slouched on the bed. "How have you been control-freak?"

Arthur huffed, and his glare returned. "Fine. How about you albino?"

"You know I'm always awesome, and being an albino is even awesomer!" Gilbert threw his head of white hair back as he laughed. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Awesomer is not a word."

"Says who?"

"The Oxford dictionary."

"Well they'll have to accept it now that I have come up with it." Gilbert winked, and laughed again getting up from the bed. Walking back over to the door to retrieve his suspiciously few bags to bring in and unpack.

While Gilbert might be an annoying bastard- even more so than Francis _-_ Arthur did have to admit he was interesting. Having known him most of his life, the Brit was somewhat accustomed to the man. Most would do a double take when they first met him because he was indeed an albino. Pale skin, white hair, and reddish-pink eyes, Gilbert stood out. This combined with his confident personality, he was perfect for the games he participated in which was-

Arthur reeled back at the Prussian who was lugging luggage into the room. "Wait a minute, what are you doing in here? You are a _Winter Olympic_ athlete," the Brit said, with suspicion in his tone.

Gilbert grinned. "Can't a friend come by and say hello?" When Arthur's glare intensified Gilbert shrugged. "Fine, have a stick up your British ass, I'm helping Luddy get settled in. He's downstairs registering or whatever. He is your roommate."

Oh, well that made more sense.

Once Arthur's brain processed this information his heart leapt with joy at the news. Ludwig Beilschmidt was Gilbert's younger, _responsible_ brother. It was humorous really how different the two were. While Gilbert was loud and wild, Ludwig was calm and organized. Ludwig was brawny and Gilbert slim. When they were younger it would always be Ludwig to come pick up his brother, Francis, himself, and Antonio after they go and get pissed. But that's not to say Ludwig couldn't be fun, the opposite actually. Ludwig was a wonderful drinking companion. Which is why he will also be a wonderful roommate. Not loud, wouldn't pry, and if Arthur got a hold of some beer, Ludwig might not alert any of the Olympic officials and drink casually with him.

Arthur was elated.

The Brit's euphoria disappeared when Gilbert slammed the suitcase onto the bed and began unpacking its' contents. "Did you not ask who you would be sharing a room with?" He said, continuing to unpack and refold clothes. Although Gilbert is wild, one thing he is anal about is tidiness.

"I thought about asking, but I ran into the Frog," Arthur said, and immediately wished he hadn't. Gilbert whipped his head over his shoulder, and grinned maniacally.

"Franny's here?" His eyes twinkled mischievously. "What floor is he on? Oh man, when Toni gets here we can party hardcore now that we are in the same building."

Arthur frowned at the man in front of him. "What do you mean? You're not in the same building because you're not competing-"

But at this point Gilbert wasn't listening anymore. After pulling out his mobile and calling Francis, he raced out the door. In his rush, he ran into his brother, but only paused a second before continuing shouting: "Got to go Luddy! Franny and I got to get Toni here!" An aspirated Ludwig only sighed in response, as he watched Gilbert disappear.

The younger German's sky blue eyes then turned to Arthur, who stared back. "I'm sorry for leaving you with mein brother, but we needed to check in and I didn't trust him with the paperwork," Ludwig sighed, as he ran a hand through his slicked back blond hair.

Arthur shrugged. "It's fine. I would have done the same in your situation."

Ludwig nodded and then walked over to the remaining clothes Gilbert laid out, and began putting them into drawers. After a minute of watching him do this, Arthur pulled out a novel from his bag- _Pride and Prejudice_ never gets old -and soon became immersed. Ludwig watched him from the corner of his eye. While Arthur had been right in thinking that the man he would spend the next month living with wouldn't pry into his life, what he didn't factor in was how curious Ludwig actually was about the archer.

"Arthur, how have you been? Are you excited for the games?" Arthur's entanglement with his novel ended at the sound of his name. Looking up, he saw the nineteen year old staring at him from the corner of his eyes.

"I have been well enough, and I always look forward to a competition where I can showcase my talents. How about you?" Arthur paused. "This is your first year is it not?"

Ludwig calculated his words and nodded. "I'm glad you are well, and ja. This is my first year. Mein brother wouldn't stop talking when I made the cut. Although we did go out to the bar and drink beer afterwards, which was fun."

"That seems like something you two would do," Arthur muttered, as Ludwig finished packing and took a seat on his bed. Remembering the Prussian, he put his book down and turned to face Ludwig fully. "Your brother said something about staying in this building even though he is not competing. Is there a rooming arrangement I am not aware of?"

Ludwig quirked an eyebrow. "Did you not read the email that was sent out?"

Arthur blinked dumbly at him. "I threw it in my spam, because I thought it was fake mail from Francis," the Brit admitted quietly. "It's not my damn fault though! If you knew how much useless mail the Frog has sent me you would have too!" Arthur yelled at the German, his face and ears turning a vivid shade of red.

Ludwig barely kept his face impassive as he felt the sudden urge to scowl in annoyance. For Arthur to be supposedly so smart he was a dumbass. "Ja, you were supposed to read it. It outlines the rooming arrangements and schedule for us this year," Ludwig said, while opening up his email on his mobile. He handed the device to the Brit, who stood up to accept it, and began reading immediately.

According the message there had been extra space in one the buildings of the Olympic Village, and that any family member- especially if they were a winter or former athlete -was asked to reply immediately if they were interested. It also included the entire schedule of those competing, listing events such as the parade which would occur in two weeks. It also provided several places where they could go and practice, and different places in the city to relax and sightsee. It was very thorough and Arthur found himself regretting not reading it sooner.

It was at that moment that Arthur heard a buzz on his bed. Giving Ludwig back his phone with a polite thank you, he picked up his. It was from his friend Elizabeta, she had landed and was on her way here. Arthur gave a small smile. While it was true that the women could be terrifying- her chasing Gilbert with the pan still loomed in his mind -she was one of the first friends the Brit had made on his own when he was in London. She was also one of the few that had tolerated him, and he was one of the few to stay by her when she divorced her husband Austrian pianist Roderich Edelstein.

"You get a text from Eliza too?" Ludwig asked, and Arthur looked up. While Ludwig had only been connected to Elizabeta because she had been childhood friends with Gilbert and married his cousin, the two had a deep friendship.

"Yes, I say she should be here in ten minutes," Arthur said.

Ludwig nodded and put his phone in his pocket. "I'm going to greet her in the lobby, do you want to come with me?" Arthur nodded to agree but paused.

The Brit normally would have no hesitation, but the fear of facing another conversation like the one with Francis resurfaced. He did not feel like explaining anything of what had happened to anyone, and he knew if he went down there that possibility increased. Or worse: he could run into Alfred. But in the end his pride and desire to see his friend caused him to get up off the bed.

Nodding silently to Ludwig the two grabbed their key cards, and made their way out the door.

* * *

The ride on the lift had been quiet, but it did not bother either of the two. When the doors opened, they were greeted not with an empty lobby or Elizabeta like they had expected. Instead the "Bad Touch Trio" comprised of Gilbert, Francis, and a Spanish football player named Antonio Fernandez Carriedo stood by the doors. Arthur noted that by Toni's side was his suitcases and equipment bag, and his hair was slightly damp from the rain.

The three were a peculiar group, as each had vastly different personalities. However, they were all extremely close to one another, even visiting each other in their home countries for months at a time. Each were also extremely popular with the media, and once the broadcasting networks saw the close friendship back in London, they gave them the nickname "Bad Friends Trio." But after each was labelled one of the sexiest men on Earth the 'friends' morphed into 'touch.' They have been called it ever since.

As Ludwig and Arthur stepped out, the trio stopped talking and looked at them. As did the receptionist who had been sneaking photos of the three behind her computer screen. It was Antonio who spoke first.

"Ludwig! Arthur! ¡Hola! It has been a while. ¿Cómo estas?" The easygoing Spaniard flashed his world famous smile, which spread across his tanned face all the way to his stunning green eyes.

Ludwig looked at them, and Arthur mentally pleaded with the German to ignore them and just move to another area to wait on Elizabeta. Alas, the Brit was severely disappointed when Ludwig walked over to the three. Thinking it would be extremely rude at this point to turn around and go back into the lift, Arthur begrudgingly followed suit.

Reaching the three, Ludwig shook hands with Antonio and Francis. "I am doing well. I presume you are too?"

Antonio nodded. "Si, the team this year has really prepared themselves, and I think we will win."

"That is good, I wish you luck. Everyone seems in good spirits this year, and I believe the games will be memorable to say the least," Ludwig said, after a slight pause. The trio agreed heartily, but soon enough Antonio's eyes fell on Arthur.

"Arthur, what about you?" The Spaniard smiled at him, but his eyes were calculating. Arthur and Antonio had a decent relationship, but it was nothing to brag about either. After London, the two had a small skirmish that was resolved, but left an intense rivalry.

Francis too was watching the Brit with narrowed eyes, no doubt recalling their conversation a few hours earlier. Arthur unconsciously put up his usual frown, and crossed his arms. "I am fine, and the games this year do seem promising. There is no doubt that the ceremony will be unforgettable. All the athletes I have seen or spoken with have high hopes for this year and I wouldn't be surprised if a few records were broken." _By me,_ the Brit added in his mind. All nodded in agreement, and Francis gave a small smile.

"I have to agree with you Lapin. I plan to break my old record," he said while pushing back a strand of hair. Gilbert bellowed a laugh that made the receptionist- who was still taking photos -jump.

"No one is going to break as many records as Luddy though!" Gilbert smiled, and clapped an arm around Ludwig. "Bet you a beer right now!"

Ludwig growled. "Brother-"

"That's right, he is going to beat more records and win more medals than all of you sissies combined," Gilbert grinned wildly. Ludwig shook his head in annoyance and shrugged the Prussian's hand off.

Francis smiled coldly at Gilbert. "Want to hold up to that bet with wine instead of beer?" Gilbert thought for a minute then snapped his fingers.

"Alright I got it! When Luddy here beats the record and gets more medals than you guys, you have to take us out and buy all of our drinks-" the receptionist cocked an eyebrow at this "-and if you losers win- which you won't -I'll buy your drinks." Gilbert beamed at his idea, while Ludwig rubbed his face in his hands.

Francis thought for a moment, before a tiny smile came across his face."You're on mon ami." The two shook hands to confirm the deal, with Antonio walking over a second later to shake as well. Everyone in the party then turned to Arthur.

"What about you eyebrows?" Gilbert threw a hand out to Arthur. While the prospect of potentially free drinks sounded lovely, Arthur was wary about getting drunk again in front of the four. Taking too long to answer, Gilbert opened his mouth to speak when the front doors of the lobby opened.

Walking in, soaked from the rain, was Elizabeta Hedervary. She ran a hand through her wet brown hair, and scanned the area before landing on the group. Seeing Arthur and Ludwig she gave a smile, and went to say hello when she saw Gilbert. The smile immediately turned into a scowl, which only deepened when Gilbert said:

"Hey look the cross-dresser is here."

With those immortal words, Elizabeta's eyes flared, and she pulled out a hairbrush from her bag. Throwing it and nailing Gilbert square in the nose. The Prussian gave a startled cry, grabbing his injury and glared at the woman. Everyone else in the group watched on in amusement, used to this behavior.

The two had been childhood friends, back when Elizabeta thought she was a boy. The Hungarian was the only girl in her family, and so she dressed in boy's clothes and wrestled with the boys in her class until puberty, when she found that she _wasn't_ a boy. Elizabeta tries to forget about her childhood, but after the relationship between her and Gilbert went south after she married Roderich, the taunts about it became more frequent.

Elizabeta's glare only intensified. "Gilbert! I will beat you with another pan!" She yelled, her voice laced with a thick Hungarian accent. The silver-haired man smirked and squinted at her.

"You don't have one with you right now crap-wad," Elizabeta smiled almost maniacally in response.

"I don't? Oh, let me just get to my suitcase and then we will see you bastard!"

Gilbert started to raise his fists and retort, but it was Ludwig's deep voice that came instead. "Brother shut up. Guten tag Elizabeta. How was your flight?"

Elizabeta turned her attention to Ludwig, and her scowl faded into a genuine smile. "Luddy! Good to see you, and my flight was okay. It was a bit long though," Elizabeta turned to the rest of the group, ignoring Gilbert's glare. "How is everyone else?"

Arthur moved to speak up, but the other two obnoxious members of the party appeared in front of him. Antonio smiled brightly. "¡Hola Elizabeta! I am well." Elizabeta smiled back at him, when Francis grabbed her hand and gave it a light peck.

"Bonjour Elizabeta. I'm magnifique and you look as beautiful as I remember," Francis smoothly spoke. Arthur rolled his eyes at the gesture.

So did Elizabeta as she pulled her hand back. "I see you haven't changed." she muttered, Francis winked in response.

She then spotted the Brit in the corner, and her eyes lit up. "Arthur, you're here! I thought you weren't competing this year?"

The Brit frowned. "Why wouldn't I compete? And I am fine and well."

"I was just worried for you that's all. I'm happy to hear you are well though brows!" Elizabeta giggled at the use of the nickname she had given him all the way back during the 2012 games.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Good to see you too Rapunzel-" Elizabeta frowned at the nickname "-but come off it, you have never worried about me. You know I can handle myself," Arthur said with his brows furrowing.

Elizabeta shrugged, her hair falling a little around her shoulders. "That's true, it's just that you seemed so upset after your fight with Alfred I really thought you became a drunk somewhere in London."

Arthur blinked at her. "N-No no! I was not upset over Alfred, and I most certainly did not become a drunk because of him!" When did his life revolve around the boy? What was with them?

Francis, realizing the opportunity to gather more information on the flustered Brit, jumped into the discussion. "Ah but Lapin you're _still_ upset over Alfred. Deny it all you want but I can see it in your eyes."

Arthur's face burned with rage and embarrassment. "I'm not-"

"Are you sure Arthur?" Ludwig asked, voicing his curiosity. "You do seem out of it."

He felt attacked. "I'm fine-"

"Are you still a drunk?" Antonio inquired, interrupting Arthur.

He had been sober for over a year. "No I'm-"

"He is too," the receptionist piped up. "He was looking through the bar when he arrived."

Gilbert laughed. "Wow really? I didn't know that you would be such a cry baby about what happened in Rio. Man, I'm glad I took Alfred's side. No wonder no one in the community takes you seriously anymore," he continued laughing for a second before the impact of what he had said settled onto everyone. Then the snow-white skin of the albino somehow became more pale.

Arthur stared at them, and the five looked anywhere but him. After a minute Arthur quietly spoke. "Do the other athletes really think so low of me? That no one thought I would return because I was drinking my troubles away in London? Even my own friends?" He spoke and gazed at the group.

Antonio looked apologetic, but his eyes glowed. "What did you expect Arthur? That we would forget that fiasco? That's all anyone talked about even after Rio was over, and no one saw you after the games so we assumed that Alfred had crushed your spirits for good. No one even gave it a thought that you might come back. You became the joke of everyone's conversations for weeks. I'll even bet you're here just to see Alfred, right _amigo_?"

The room became silent. The only sound that could be heard was the tick of a clock somewhere. All those present stared at the normally care-free Spaniard, but none of them spoke to counter argue him. To say they didn't agree. Arthur felt his cheeks go red. Rage and embarrassment coursed throughout his body, but that wasn't even the worse part to the Brit. He couldn't even think of anything to _say_ to defend himself. It was utterly humiliating.

Elizabeta looked at him sadly. Her suddenly tentative voice breaking the silence. "Arthur-"

But he was not listening anymore, and he turned on his heel and marched out of the lobby. Grabbing a lift before the others realized what was going on, he pressed the button and the doors began to close. He saw Elizabeth and Francis rush over to try and stop him, but it was in vain. The doors shut before they made it half-way. Leaving the archer alone.

Arthur's mind was numb. He expected to be talked about, even prepared for it, but he never thought that he would be the _laughingstock_ of the Olympic community. That Arthur's achievements and records meant nothing, and all he was known for now was his stupid quarrel with Alfred.

Alfred. The Brit paused as his mind displayed the memory of the golden-haired teen. Young, chubby, and obvious to the world around him. Arthur took a deep breath as the doors opened on his floor, and he walked to his room. Entering he laid down on his bed, and thought.

It was true he still wasn't over the teen. Arthur had basically taken Alfred under his wing at Rio, and was so elated that someone actually _looked_ up to him. Someone who didn't tease and make fun of him like his brothers, which he swore he would never do to his new 'brother.' But as Alfred gained popularity, Arthur became jealous of the time others were spending with him, and he went and ruined everything by trying to control the American. Arthur sighed, really this whole mess was his fault. But before he could think further, he felt a buzz on his stomach.

Grabbing the device he viewed it. It was from Elizabeta, asking him if he was okay.

It was then a wave of anger washed over the Englishman, and a thought entered his mind. Looking around he found his archery equipment, and he headed down to the lift to find the practice fields.

Arthur Kirkland was going to redeem himself and move on from the legacy of Rio by making Olympic history, and nothing was going to distract him. Not even the American swimmer at the center of his scandal. Who- unbeknown to Arthur -had arrived downstairs. Looking for the green-eyed Brit.

* * *

 **A.N. Hello, hello, hello! You know what sucks? Finals, A.P testing, and watching your friends graduate sucks! That is basically what I have been doing for the past two weeks, and I am just burned out. But I somehow managed to get this chapter done among the chaos and stress, so I can't really complain.**

 **Anyway, Arthur is now a man with a mission! But will that mission stay as the games go on and Alfred comes back?**

 **Thanks for reading, and give a review!**


	4. Chapter Three: The Parade of Nations

_**I do not own anything**_

* * *

 _Thwack!_

The slender arrow hit the target, less than an inch from the bulls-eye. Close. Teasingly close. Arthur's eye twitched. The frustration of missing the center yet again was beginning to drive the Englishman to the point of insanity. At this rate he would never be ready in time for his event. Although his trainer insisted that he was more than prepared and to _please_ come inside and relax, Arthur was not convinced. He had to be perfect, and hit in the center every shot. How else could he redeem himself?

It had been two weeks since he had been told that the athletes no longer took him seriously, and Arthur had spent nearly every waking moment practicing since. Actively avoiding everyone, including Ludwig, as he stayed out late just to make sure the German was asleep when he came in. Elizabeta had blown his mobile up with so many messages that he had it on permanent silence. Surprisingly though it was easy to avoid the woman, as she was constantly training now -like everyone else- that the games were so close. However, he knew that was not the reason he could slip by the Hungarian so easily. From the texts he glanced at she seemed preoccupied, as Italian fencers Feliciano and Lovino Vargas had arrived. While it was true she was fond of the Italian brothers, for some reason, their presence put her on edge.

The problem was not Elizabeta or Ludwig. Not even Antonio or Gilbert as Antonio prepared for the finals, and Gilbert caught up with his Winter Olympic friends. The problem was a certain Frenchman. Francis seemed to be getting closer and closer to interacting with him. Trying to get into the lift when he did, standing by his favorite food in the cafe, and had even begun waiting in the lobby for when Arthur came down to practice. How Francis found time to train during this was beyond Arthur's knowledge. Lucky, he found out that if he ate quickly enough he could bypass the determined Frenchman, and make it without him ever knowing.

It wasn't that Arthur was avoiding them because he was angry,- well maybe a little -he didn't want to face their pity filled apologizes. He wanted them to apologize for thinking he couldn't recover. For them to watch him hit perfect shots, and not blink once. The Brit was going to win through his own hard work, and not through the attention and pity of others. Arthur was going to prove Francis, Elizabeta, and all the others who doubted his comeback wrong.

Arthur tightened his grip on the bow, as he examined the target. It was exactly 30 meters away from his body, wind coming in from the right, with arrows sticking out from previous attempts. The Brit sighed deeply as he drew an arrow and latched it into place, getting it comfortable along his fingers and string. After a second he lifted the bow, pulling back the string, and focusing his emerald gaze on the center. Arthur's face was possessed with the utmost concentration, but he seemed relaxed with his shoulders and body. His stance well practiced to the point Arthur didn't even think twice upon the matter. The only thing in his sight was the black dot 30 meters away. With his blond hair blowing slightly in the wind, Arthur released the arrow.

Blinking he missed the sight of the contact, but he certainly heard it as a loud _thwack_ reached his ears. Gazing across the way, he found his arrow. Dead-center. Arthur couldn't help the grin that spread across his face as he relaxed and lowered the bow. As he stared at the mark he realized just how tired he was. The muscles in his arms twitching from the relentless practice, begging for a break. Feeling he should call it a day, he took one last look at the arrow lodged and began packing.

"Nice shot Arthur!"

The smiled vanished from his face as he heard his name. Whipping around hard enough to cause whiplash, his eyes widened in surprise. His jaw clenched. After examining this newcomer, Arthur felt his heart drop into his stomach.

He was standing a few meters behind the Englishman with a small smile on his face. Wrapped up in a red hoodie, jeans, and black _Chuck Taylors_ he seemed completely relaxed. No worry lines or creases graced his tanned skin, and his dirty blond hair blew in the wind. Sometimes blowing into his glasses.

"A-Alfred?" Arthur asked in anticipation, hating how his voice choked on the name. The newcomer slouched a bit in disappointment, but began walking toward the Brit nevertheless.

"Sorry, but I'm Matthew," he said, smiling at Arthur as he reached him. Arthur breathed out a sigh of relief. Now that he was closer he could see that the golden hair was longer, almost shoulder length with a curl coming out the side. His glasses were round not square, and most noticeably, his eyes were a purplish hue. Not blue like Alfred's.

This was not Alfred F. Jones as Arthur originally thought, but Matthew Williams. Alfred's twin brother.

Matthew was the older twin by five and half minutes, and competed in the Winter Olympics for the Canadian hockey team. It was puzzling to many why the twins competed on different teams, and had different last names. The reason why was extremely complicated. Long story short, both twins were born in North Carolina, but were adopted by a couple in Quebec. However, the couple divorced when they were five. Ms. Jones moved down to New York with Alfred where he thrived in the water, while Mr. Williams moved to Ottawa with Matthew who excelled in ice hockey. Each became noticed by the public eye, and eventually made it onto their respective teams. Matthew was the milder twin and was pleasant to talk to in Arthur's opinion. Unfortunately, he was often overshadowed by his brother and many mistook the two, but that didn't mean Matthew was a pushover. Everyone knew that the minute he skated onto the ice for a game. But Arthur felt especially indebted to the older twin, as he was the one to help him stop drinking.

Arthur gave a small smile to the purpled-eyed man in front of him. "Hello Matthew, I am sorry for mistaking you again with your brother."

Matthew smiled softy. "It's no trouble Arthur. You know that I'm used to it."

"That doesn't make the mistake anymore excusable," Arthur muttered.

Matthew simply shrugged. "Again it's fine." The eighteen year old glanced at the bow and the arrow lounged in the center. "That was an amazing shot, you've been practicing a lot haven't you?"

Arthur beamed with pride at the compliment. "Thank you, I have been practicing." Arthur walked over and grabbed the arrows he had shot, and put them in his quiver. "I'm working on breaking the record this year," the Brit said walking back over to the Canadian.

Matthew smiled at him. "That's good, are you shooting anymore today?"

Arthur shook his head, but gave a forlorned glance at the range. "No, I was going to head back to the village."

"Okay, I'll walk with you. Need me to carry anything?"

"No I've got it all, thank you." Matthew smiled and the two began making their way out of the shooting range, heading toward the village in silence. Arthur didn't mind the quiet and he knew Matthew didn't either, but it had been weeks since he had a proper conversation and well... He wanted to talk.

"Matthew," the violet-eyed man looked at him. "When did you arrive?"

Matthew's eyebrows furrowed in thought. "Almost a week ago, maybe? Although Al has been here for a few weeks now. I had to get my paperwork done so I could stay in the village. The Winter Olympic athlete thing they have going on is actually pretty nice, but it is a mess to get filed-" Matthew would have went on but as he looked at Arthur it was obvious the Brit was no longer listening. The Canadian looked at Arthur. "Arthur? How are you?"

The Englishman snapped out of his repertoire, and shrugged. "I've been fine. What about you?"

Matthew studied Arthur as they walked through the village. "Good, but Arthur- I don't want to be rude - _how are you?_ You didn't start drinking again when I left, did you?" He asked gently.

Arthur's brows furrowed and he scowled, his tone icy. "No I did not thank you. You worry over nothing, now can you drop it?" Taking a few steps away from him, Arthur huffed. Soon, however, he realized what he said and turned around to apologize. Turning around, he was mildly perplexed to see the teen standing there completely relaxed. Merely waiting on him to say something. A wave of guilt rolled over him. "Matthew I apologize, everyone has been asking me and-"

"Arthur it's okay," Matthew said with a sad smile, "I just wanted to see if you were well."

Arthur sighed and looked around, surprised to see they were already at the front of his building. "I'm fine, really I am. I stopped drinking after you left. I couldn't have come back if I had not. I'm tired of everyone's pity, that's all. Which is why I have to beat the record this year," Arthur's eyes shone with determination as the two walked into the front lobby.

A concerned expression passed over Matthew's face, and he would have said more had Arthur's mobile not buzzed at that moment. Startled by the unexpected noise, Arthur apologized. He had forgotten to put it on silent this morning. Pulling it out, he viewed the message. His eyebrows rising at the sender. It was not from Elizabeta or Francis like he expected, but instead from his brother Henry.

"Oh no," Arthur groaned, rubbing his temple to prevent a sudden headache. Matthew glanced at him from the corner of his eyes.

"Who is it?"

Arthur ran a hand through his hair. "My brother Henry, you know the one who studied at Aberystwyth in Wales?" Matthew nodded after thinking upon the matter. "Apparently he found out that they were offering rooms for family members and is coming. He told me to go fill out some of the paperwork so he could stay. He is boarding as we speak." Damnit, dealing with the Olympic community and Francis was another matter that he could handle. But with his brother coming, it changed the game.

"What about your other brothers?"

Arthur groaned, but sighed in relief. At least there was one good aspect of this. "According to Henry they are busy, but Mum wanted someone to come down since she can't. I don't know how they found out," the Englishman muttered.

Matthew eyes seemed to shine at the news, the blue in his lilac orbs poking out. The small smile on his lips appeared to be hiding something. "Well at least he is coming to see you right? That's good."

Arthur looked at him through his fingers, which had been rubbing over his face in exasperation. "Maybe to you, but you don't know my brothers. They made my life hell growing up."

"They can't be that bad," Matthew said at the same moment his phone went off. The tune _American Idiot_ echoing in the lobby. Looking at it he sighed. "It's Al, he wants me to come help him practice by timing him." He put his phone in his pocket and smiled at him. "It was nice to see you Arthur. I'll talk with you more later. Good luck with your brother!"

Arthur huffed as he watched the Canadian start heading towards the door. "Easy for you to say. I'll be overwhelmed with stress before the day is over."

Matthew looked back at him one last time and laughed. "Don't stress yourself out too much. The parade is tomorrow, see you then Arthur!" With that the teen was out the door.

Arthur stood there for a moment absorbing this information. The parade _was_ tomorrow. Arthur had forgotten all about it, too busy in his own little world. He was not prepared for the parade. He would have to face everyone. There was no way around it. Not only that but the eyes of the world and his annoying brother would be there, looking at his reaction. He would also see Alfred tomorrow.

Arthur sighed deeply and headed to the cafe for tea. He was _dreading_ tomorrow.

* * *

The holding area they were waiting in was blasting out cold air. It was to combat the hot air outside that came from the mixture of the July heat, stadium lights, and plethora of people. Who were all waiting on the athletes of 2020 Olympic Games to come out of the tunnel for the parade. To cheer on their home country, and get a good view on the other teams.

These teams were currently freezing their butts off in said tunnel. Including Arthur who was standing at the front of Team Great Britain, appearing calm but in reality was full of anxiety. Playing with cuff of his coat- the design was fairly simple this year with just a blue coat, red undershirt, and white pants for parade. On the coat pocket was the Union Jack -Arthur recounted the events of that day.

His brother, oh how he wanted to ring his neck. While it was true Arthur was relieved that it was Henry here and not his other brothers James and Patrick, that didn't mean he was happy about him being here at all. The wanker had taken all of Arthur's free time yesterday after he got done with practice, because he was scrambling around trying to get his brother's paperwork filed and approved. Then he had to help his brother find his room, which was located far from his, and help him unpack. It was well into night before Arthur got back to his room and crashed into his bed, falling into a deep sleep.

This morning had been a different adventure entirely. He had to meet up with his team, get his outfit, make sure there was nothing wrong with it, listen to a speaker for three hours on what they weren't allowed to do walking out, and then finally get shoved into the human icebox. It was in here that Arthur's anxiety was the most high. If any athlete was to speak with him they would tonight, and more importantly Alfred was here. He was in the same room.

But Arthur had developed a strategy for the dealing with young American: to ignore him completely. Not a glance over at Team USA, now or when they were called out, and especially no crowd searching for the boy. Arthur was to hold his head up high and walk with pride- this was his moment after all.

It was then the intercom buzzed, announcing that the parade had begun, with Greece walking out first. There was an applause as everyone was anxious to get out of there, and those that had moved about to talk to their friends walked back to their respective teams. Arthur gazed at various athletes he knew as they went by. Lars Jansen and his little brother Henri going to their respective teams of the Netherlands and Luxembourg. The two also had a sister who was on the Belgium team. He also saw newcomer Leon Wang walking by for Hong Kong, at his side was-

Oh no.

Arthur gritted his teeth. It was Im Yong Soo, the annoying archer from South Korea who unfortunately happened to be very good. He had actually almost beaten Arthur at Rio, much to the annoyance of the Brit. While nothing malicious had ever arose from the two, it was obvious they were each other's biggest rivals.

Before Arthur could brew over the South Korean, his team moved. Walking forward, Arthur could feel the excitement radiating from his teammates. A similar feeling was felt in the stomach of the Brit, but before he could think about it anymore he was blinded by the sudden light from the stadium. When he opened his eyes again the sight of a cheering crowd greeted him.

"Great Britain!" The roar that accompanied the announcement hurt Arthur's ears, but a smile spread across his face anyway.

Gazing around, he soaked up the moment up like a sponge. Arthur could hear the chatter of his teammates, but it sounded like a faraway dream through the crowd's excitement. Gazing over to the center where the flags and teams who have already gone through were sitting, his mind slowed down. The flags he had seen before all his life appeared to be new, their colors vivid and designs wild. The crowd seemed like a painting, until a flash came from one side and a flag from another. These small things intensified as they moved along. Making that painting change into a photo, and then soon a film. This feeling occurred every single time Arthur had walked in the parade. No matter where it was. The only one that was even remotely different was London. As he was new to the scene and felt the pride of his homeland as he walked. The smell was something that was new to Arthur. Every game had a different one. He could faintly smell a sunny day, the most prominent factor being that of cut grass. But accompanying it was the ever present smell of industry. He felt the heat of the air on his back, and could feel sweat beginning to form. Arthur felt as if his body was numb but yet alive with energy, and that if blinked he might miss it all.

But just like that the moment was over, and Arthur with the rest of his team were shoved into the center to wait until the other teams had gone through. It was here that claustrophobia became a problem that the Brit did not want to deal with. Shoving his way through both his team and other athletes, he found a clearing off to the side that was right next to the walkway where the parade was going on. Giving Arthur a good look at each nation walking by.

His emerald eyes recognized a few faces, but overall many were newcomers. Looking at them Arthur felt old. He was only twenty-three, but this was to be his third games. Most of the people he knew when he first came had already retired. Even some of the athletes that competed for the first time in London like him were no longer competing. Arthur began to reminisce upon the old days, as he watched the athletes in front of him go along happily.

It was then he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning around he met the blue eyes of Francis, who had a smile on his face. Seeing him reminded Arthur briefly that Francis was one of the few athletes that had went to London with him. But soon enough Arthur's irritation flared as he remembered the reason why he had been avoiding the Frog in the first place.

"Mon Lapin, I found you! I was worried you would sneak off," Francis said, as he flipped his hair out of the way. His uniform hat framed his face perfectly, with his blond hair tied back with only the bangs hanging.

Arthur frowned and shrugged off Francis' hand. "Why are you over here? You should be with your team," Francis rolled his eyes, brushing off the question.

"Don't worry about moi. I know what I'm doing. Why are you over here? Are we looking for our little Américain?" Arthur's face flamed in both anger and embarrassment.

"I am not! I am just standing here because it's less crowded that's all," the stubborn Brit insisted. Francis smirked at the response.

"Mm-hmmm, keep telling yourself that," Francis paused before continuing. "They did a good job this year, with the decor."

Arthur shrugged, gazing around. "I guess. Nothing will ever beat London though."

Francis chuckled. "I suppose that statement might be slightly bias?"

Arthur gave a small smirk. "I don't know what you're talking about. There is no bias whatsoever, London was simply the best and you know it," Francis only smiled.

"I suppose so. As horrible you English are with cooking-"

"We are not!"

"-I have to admit I do miss London sometimes. Nothing beats that first game," Francis said watching the athletes go by at a rapid pace. They didn't want any clogging after all.

Arthur sighed, but nodded slowly in agreement. "I was thinking about London before you came over. It's hard to believe that most of the athletes we were with have retired, and now we're the older ones." Francis placed a hand over his heart.

"I am not old! My gorgeous self is as youthful as a flower. You on the other hand have aged like as expected," Francis cried with laughter in his voice, which only increased as Arthur narrowed his eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean? And I have to disagree with you Francis. You have aged like the frog you are," Arthur laughed at the look of mock offense that passed over Francis' face.

"Lapin, you brute! You wound me deeply, but that's to be expect from a man who has aged like an opium addict," Francis laughed at the shocked expression on the Brit's face.

"I did not! You're full of shit, you snail eater!" Francis laughed obnoxiously.

"Ohonhon I'm I? You haven't watched yourself like I have Lapin." Arthur scoffed at the wink that followed that statement.

"Pervert," Arthur muttered, while Francis continued to laugh. The two only barely noticing the parade in front of them, as they bantered and teased. Standing side by side with small smiles on their faces, even though they claimed to be very angry with the other.

Overcoming his laughter, Francis spoke again, laying his arms on the railing in front of them and leaning on it. "Non, we are not old. If anyone here is old it's Yao. Twenty-eight and the man is competing," Arthur snorted, and mirrored Francis' body movements.

"That may be true, but we both know that will be us next games-"

"The United States of America!" The announcer's voice boomed over the stadium, and to answer him was the roar of the crowd.

Arthur's mind acted naturally as he stood up to investigate, but it was his eyes that betrayed him. They took in the whole that was Team USA marching in, smiling brightly. Some with their phones out, recording the moment they will never live in again. However, his emerald eyes didn't stop after seeing these select few. They did not dismiss the team all together like he had planned earlier. No, they kept going as if they were unsatisfied with those they saw. Until they landed in the center to one particularly exuberant American. Who in Arthur's mind seemed to be smiling brighter than the lights flashing from cameras around the stadium. The bright lights also reflected in his golden hair, making it glow against sun-kissed skin. His hair was combed back, but that one stubborn cowlick stuck up against all odds. Although he was far away, Arthur could make out his blue eyes that were highlighted with his navy blue uniform.

There was no mistaking him. It was Alfred F. Jones, American gold medalist.

Arthur mentally chided himself for looking, and wrinkled his nose. Turning away from the display as quick as he could. Arthur had a mission, and by George he was not going to let Alfred lead him back to the whiskey bottle. As Arthur turned back to Francis he saw something unusual on the Frenchman's face: a genuine scowl.

"I see _Alfred_ is the flag bearer this year," Francis said coolly, his azure eyes following the swimmer. "I don't understand why, he only won one gold medal last time." Arthur frowned and gave a glance back at the Americans, and sure enough there was Alfred in dead center. Waving the Star Spangled Banner proudly with one hand, and to the audience with the other.

Arthur quickly turned back to Francis. "That is interesting. Maybe it's because he is so young?"

"Possibly, he is very talented," Francis muttered bitterly, but Arthur heard the sadness laced in his words. He quirked an eyebrow and smirked.

"What's the matter Frog? Jealous that someone has come to take your spotlight?" Arthur asked as he turned to gaze at the Americans one last time. Trying to deny the disappointment he felt when he observed that they had already gone through, and were now getting settled somewhere in the center with the rest of the athletes. Francis' sigh brought him back to the conversation.

"To be honest Lapin, I am. Especially since this will be my last time to seize it," Francis gazed at Arthur with a bittersweet smile, noticing the glance the Englishman gave to American team.

Arthur's face furrowed together in confusion. "What do you mean? Are you retiring after this year?" Francis seemed to be thinking deeply for his response, but all of a sudden a small smile formed on his lips after viewing something behind Arthur. From having known the Frenchman since childhood, Arthur recognized that look, and it was one of false politeness. Which included a small and very _fake_ smile.

The archer was about to question this sudden behavior when he heard a loud voice. "Artie! Is that you?" The Brit's eyes widened to that of saucers, as he turned around to address the teen behind him.

Standing there, smiling like a toddler covered in ice cream, was Alfred. Arthur would like to think he did not stand there gaping like an idiot, but he had all the reason to. Because now that Arthur could view him up close he discovered that the chubby, awkward fourteen year old in Rio was no longer present. Instead, Alfred had grown into a handsome young man, with his toned body radiating in self-confidence. His chubby face had disappeared between puberty and training and now was chiseled to perfection. The American swimmer had even donned his rectangular glasses, which four years ago he thought looked "uncool" but now gave more definition to his face. Alfred's eyes were the only thing that had remained the same. The breathtaking blue was alight tonight, almost appearing to have stars dancing in them, as his ever happy personality shone through them.

It flickered across Arthur's mind that Alfred should be a model, because the American was bloody gorgeous, but his old resentment kicked in. Narrowing his eyes he viewed Alfred coolly. "Alfred, for the last time it is Arthur not Artie or whatever concoction you decide to come up with."

Alfred laughed, not noticing the tone of the Brit's voice. "Whatever dude, it's good to see you! How have you been? Because I've been awesome! Did you know I got Jett the Australian swimmer as my roommate? It's so cool and his brother is here too and he is only fifteen! Then again Gavin is here for rowing so it's not _as_ impressive-"

"I have been well. Fantastic actually," Arthur said interrupting the talkative boy. "You've changed a lot since I last saw you."

Alfred seemed to beam at the observation. "You noticed? I've been training non-stop since Rio to get into shape, because I used to be fat you know. Not to mention that gold medal is not going to win itself!"

Arthur forced a smile. "It's good that you've been well, I didn't know how you would be after Rio."

Alfred turned his head to the side in confusion, like a puppy. "What do you mean? Why wouldn't I be fine after Rio?"

Arthur felt his face flame as both embarrassment and anger coursed through his body. _Wanker was not even phased by our fight._ His eyebrows were furrowed in anger and he felt the urge to cry. Refusing to let his weakness show, Arthur was about to unleash a storm of insults when Francis' smooth voice entered the fray.

"Why after I promised to beat you here at Tokyo of course," Francis said, stepping next to Arthur as he gazed at Alfred. Who- much to the Frenchman's annoyance -had grown to be taller than him.

Alfred's smile faltered a bit, but recovered as he puffed up his body to speak to Francis. The eighteen year old laughed his signature, obnoxious laugh. "Hey Francis, I didn't see you there! How have you been?"

Francis pushed his hair behind an ear. "I've been well. Training a lot by having lots of amour with the beautiful women of Japan," Arthur rolled his eyes at this. Typical Francis, can't keep it in his pants no matter where he goes. Arthur listened intently to the conversation, as he worked hard to distract his mind.

Alfred laughed uncomfortably. "You're funny Francis. I have been training tons too in the gym and pool. I even beat my time in the 200 fly." While the American beamed at this information, Arthur spared a glance at Francis who forced a smile.

"Oh? Are you finally on the same level as moi? Or am I going to leave you behind in the water again?" Francis challenged, as he stepped closer to Alfred.

The latter frowned, and a troubled look crossed his attractive features. "But I won the 100 fly, and I lost to you in the other events by less than a second."

Francis' false politeness vanished completely. A frown overtaking his expression. "Well that may be true, but you can guarantee that will _not_ happen again."

"I guess we will see in a few days huh?" Alfred smiled, and Francis matched him.

"Oui, we will." The two then proceed to stare each other down, and the longer they did the colder the air seemed.

Arthur shifted uncomfortably as he looked between them both. It was obvious the two had forgotten he was there, and had become more in favor of intimating the other. Their rivalry was so peculiar that no one really understood. Not even the two involved. Outside of the pool they could converse politely, and even helped each other. But there was always that lingering feeling of competition.

Arthur cleared his throat, and instantly both heads turned to him. "I believe the parade is almost over." It was true, the announcer had just called for the Zimbabwe team and the roar of the crowd was almost deafening for what nation was next.

Francis swept his hair back and observed the crowd. "Indeed it is. I must get back to my team, we planned on eating afterwards. It was nice seeing you Alfred. I look forward to our races," he turned to Arthur. "Lapin it was good to finally talk to you. I'll text you later and I hope you respond. Good night and good luck." Francis smiled at Arthur, boring into his eyes before he waved to both and disappeared into the crowd.

"See you at the races Francis!" Alfred waved enthusiastically, while the gears in Arthur's brain began to turn.

It occurred to Arthur then that Francis had helped him. Stopping him from possibly having another breakdown in front of all the other athletes by yelling at Alfred. A small part of Arthur was grateful for this, but a larger part was annoyed. He could handle himself. Damn the Frog.

The Brit's attention focused on Alfred then as the American jumped up and down as Japan was called. "Dude Kiku is out! Can you see him Artie?"

Arthur rolled his eyes in annoyance but scanned the team anyway. The crowd was mind-blowingly loud as the host nation was walking out, making it harder for the archer to concentrate. Nevertheless, he found fencer Kiku Honda among the athletes. Smiling softly as he waved and recorded the chaos around him. "Alfred for the last time it's Arthur, and look he is right there."

"Where? I don't see him."

"Right there in front of you, git! Are you that blind?"

"Oh I see him! Man he is so short compared to the others around him! And I'm not that blind," Alfred yelled at him in order to be heard. Then, much to Arthur's horror, he watched Alfred cup his hands around his mouth and inhale deeply.

"Alfred don't you dare-"

"KIKU! OVER HERE! IT'S ME AL- OUCH ARTIE!" Arthur smacked the American upside the head. His yelling almost burst the Englishman's eardrums.

"Don't yell in my ear!" Alfred began to protest something about Kiku's deaf ears, but Arthur refused to hear it. "Stop that nonsense! Kiku heard you, look!" Sure enough the small Asian man looked at them both with a small smile on his face, waving before he moved out of sight with the rest of his team.

Arthur only sighed. Out of all of the Olympic athletes, Kiku was among his favorites. He was quiet and enjoyed drinking tea like Arthur, and the two had spent many afternoons bonding over said drink. Kiku was also incredibly good at fencing, so much so that even though Elizabeta and him were friends, they often practiced together to prepare for matches.

A hand on Arthur's shoulder startled him, and he turned to meet Alfred's blue eyes. As he gazed into them he realized they were not like the sky, but something else. He couldn't figure out what exactly, but he recognized the color somewhere. The American looked at him quizzically and Arthur realized he had said something.

"What did you say?" Arthur yelled into the noise.

Alfred smiled and yelled back. "I said it's good to see you Artie! You want to watch some of the events with me tomorrow?"

Arthur was taken back at the request. Did the git finally remember what had happened and was trying to bond with him again? Looking at him Arthur doubted it. He didn't need to go anyway, he had to train after all.

"Sorry, but I have to decline. I have to prepare for my event, and I can't do that by watching someone else," Arthur said, noticing his team leaving out of the corner of his eye. "Nice seeing you Alfred. Good luck."

Arthur turned to leave with his team, but was stopped by Alfred grabbing him. The Brit spared a glance over his shoulder. "I know, it's just I want to see you! Jett and I were planning on watching it in our room anyway. You can invite someone to come with you. Please? I've missed you Artie," Arthur felt his heart thump. He looked into the swimmer's eyes, noticing the genuineness in them. He almost said yes.

"I am sorry, but I have to go Alfred." With that Arthur left. Walking with his team out of the stadium. As he did, Arthur couldn't help but replay the conversation in his mind.

Was he too harsh with the boy? He personally did not think so. After all, Alfred had been harsh to him four years ago. Besides he could not afford to get distracted days away from his event. Arthur had to win.

Although later into night, as he entered his room with Ludwig already asleep, he felt a buzz in his pocket. Pulling out his phone he viewed it.

 **Room 248 at 9 if u change ur mind.**

 **\- Alfred**

How the insufferable git got his number he would never know. He felt a twinge of annoyance go through him from the grammar, and he closed the message and placed the device on the table. Getting into his bed, and trying to ignore it completely. But as he laid there listening to the sound of Ludwig's snoring, he couldn't help the smile that spread across his face as he fell asleep. Or the ridiculous idea of actually going.

* * *

 **A.N: Hello, hello, hello! I apologize for lateness on the update. As you can see this was a rather long chapter, and it was very hard for me to write. I also was away at camp for a week without Internet access, so yeah…..**

 **Anyway, Alfred is here! And the games are so close I can taste it.**

 **Thank you all for reading, and as always please review!**


	5. Chapter Four: The American & Australian

_**I do not own anything.**_

* * *

It was not his alarm that woke Arthur up. Nor was it a natural process. As he laid there, he wondered what exactly caused him to awake from his blissful sleep when a scream and loud _thunk_ emitted from the center of the room. ' _Oh no, what is going on? I just want to sleep,'_ Arthur thought gloomily as another yell emerged. More conscious now, the Brit listened with mild interest to figure out if whatever was going on would force him to leave the comfort of his bed. When a strangled scream echoed around the room along with a curse, he sighed. There was no way he was going to sleep now, and the sound of yet another yell only confirmed this. Wait a minute- Arthur's brows furrowed under the covers in concern -that yell sounded a lot like Ludwig.

Mildly confused and groggy, Arthur turned over onto his side to face the center of the room and Ludwig's bed. It was there he could make out the hazy image of Ludwig and Gilbert. Both of whom were wrestling on the ground yelling various obscenities in German. From what he could make out- as he had yet to put his contacts in -was that Ludwig was still in his night clothes and glasses, and Gilbert was laughing like a homicidal maniac. Reaching onto his nightstand for his rather plain rectangular glasses, Arthur rubbed his eyes before putting them on. Instantly gaining a clearer image of the fight going on below him.

"Bloody hell, what's going on? It's-" Arthur looked at his mobile "- almost 7:30, and there is already nonsense going on," Arthur said with a small pout, not unlike a three year old child.

It was then Ludwig looked up at him. His face flushed and his normally slicked back blond hair falling down into his face. His clear blue eyes were so intense from his previous scuffle that Arthur felt a twinge of fear run through him. "Mein idiot brother here thought he would wake me up by dumping ice water on me, and then jumped on my body," Ludwig spoke gruffly. His clothes dripping water onto the floor.

It was then that a muffled noise came from underneath Ludwig's hand. Looking down, Arthur saw Gilbert looking at him upside down. His mouth covered by his brother's hand, and his body pinned down. Struggling a bit, he tried to say something again. "Mufff-"

"Gilbert we can't hear what you're saying. Not that you have anything to say worth hearing anyway," Arthur said with a smug smile on his face. Ludwig snorted and shifted, with the corner of his mouth curved up slightly.

Gilbert used this situation to flip Arthur the bird, and free his mouth. "Hey Dick Brows, you should watch what you're saying. Half the shit you say is the reason why no one likes-"

"Alright brother that's enough!" Ludwig yelled and placed his hand back over Gilbert mouth. The German sighed as he kept his grip and looked up at Arthur. Ignoring his brother who now seemed to be singing a song in German against his hand. "I apologize if we woke you. As you know my brother has the tenacity to do things without thinking."

Arthur merely shrugged as he made eye contact, and ran a hand through his hair. "It's fine really. My alarm was to go off at eight so it's not a major loss," Arthur said as rose from the bed, and headed towards the loo.

Stepping over the two brothers, who had now gone back to wrestling, Arthur made his way to the bathroom to get ready for the day. As he entered, he flipped on the light and was instantly greeted with his pale face in mirror. The evidence of sleep still present all over it from the dark bags under his eyes, to the goop that formed in the corner of them. Arthur sighed as he ran some water and splashed it on his face. Taking off his glasses before he did so, and sitting them down on the counter. If he was truthfully honest, it was a major loss. Arthur enjoyed sleep as much as the next guy and having it interrupted sent the already grumpy Englishman into an even fouler mood.

Arthur rubbed his face and stretched his body. Feeling pleasure as his muscles moved and his spine popped. Following it was that familiar sensation of lightheadedness that disappeared as quickly as it came. After this Arthur fell into his morning routine, putting his contacts in, using the toilet, trying in vain to brush his unruly hair. However, while his body was in a tedium, the Brit's mind was already getting a workout. Arthur liked to think he thought more than most people, and that could at times be either a blessing or a curse. For now it was a blessing, as he entertained himself fairly well and already had his day planned out. He would go downstairs, eat some breakfast, and then go outside and train. Perhaps later he might meet up with Elizabeth, or Kiku, but would more than likely return to his room after he ate dinner. Most would consider this schedule especially mundane, but Arthur did not care. He did not come to Tokyo to make friends, only to compete. Going out with others would be dangerous to his focus. Arthur did not mind being alone anyway, even if he did feel lonely at times. Above all else he had to remain focused on his ultimate goal. He could relax and unwind later, he could not get distracted as bad as he did at Rio with Francis and Alfred-

' _Oh no,'_ Arthur thought. The invitation to watch the events this morning. He had completely forgotten about it. His mind was too busy processing everything, and shoved the invite into the deep recess of his mind. Arthur sighed and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. The Englishman stared at his own reflection in the mirror. Honestly, he wished the idea of going would have stayed forgotten as he now had to rework his day if he actually went. He did not have to go. Arthur could go about his day and simply say he forgot to the American when he came to him for the inevitable questioning. However, he would feel extremely guilty over the matter, and his practice would suffer because of it. Arthur bit his lip and shook his head, leaving the bathroom.

The Englishman was not prepared to think right now. After breakfast he would make a final decision on the matter. Which- now that he thought about it -he would not attend. He did not care for watching his fellow competitors unless he knew them personally, and no doubt this would be a swimming event Alfred had invited him to. While Arthur knew many of the athletes in the shooting and archery world, he knew next to nobody in swimming besides Alfred and Francis. There was… really no point in going.

With this problem solved in his mind, Arthur stepped over the still-fighting Germans and grabbed some clothes. Changing quickly and sticking his mobile in his pocket, he left the room and headed towards breakfast.

* * *

Arthur stared up at the door. He could turn back right now and no one would ever know. Every rational thought in his mind screamed at him to turn around and go back to his room, and then go practice because his event was in _a few days._ However, something kept him rooted to the spot where he stood. While he had resolved on not coming this morning, during breakfast his mind began to over think, and now he was here. Here being directly outside Alfred's room. Maybe it was the gentleman in him that was keeping him there. Despite a little punk faze he went through, Arthur had always prided himself on being the most courteous of all his brothers. If he left now it would be seen as a rude slap in the face. After all he didn't give the American a formal 'no thank you'-but wait a minute.

Yes he did. Arthur had told Alfred no but the git had texted him the time anyway. Why was he even here? If anything Arthur should be scolding the teen for forcing people into social situations. With this logic in mind he resolved to leave.

Yet a second went by, then another, and Arthur still hadn't moved. The Brit sighed. He knew why he was still here. Arthur hadn't seen Alfred in four years, and the boy had changed so much from that naive little fourteen year old in Rio he treated like a little brother. Now Alfred was on the fast track to making Olympic history. _Arthur was just too damn curious._ He wanted to know what exactly happen to the American teen after Rio. It seemed like everyone already knew what happened to him and he was sure Alfred knew as well. Why couldn't Arthur know about the swimmer? _Well because it's not the gentleman thing to do-_

Arthur bashed his head up against the door in frustration. This was when his overthinking became a curse. It was an annoying flaw really, because now he could feel the signs of an upcoming headache.

This was the perfect excuse to leave.

Before he could do so, the door his head was leaning on opened, and his head crashed into an extremely toned abdomen. He must have hit the door louder than he thought. Arthur's face flamed in embarrassment. Here he was practically laying his head on Alfred's stomach like a loon. As he pulled up straight, however, his eyes widened in horror and his face became a more vivid shade of red. It was not Alfred who had opened the door. It was a teenager Arthur had never seen before wearing gym shorts, and eating a bowl of cereal with a quizzical yet amused look on his tanned face. His hair was combed back except for two wild pieces that briefly reminded him of Alfred's. What was rather peculiar about him was a koala bandage taped across his nose, almost as if it was there as a fashion statement.

The longer he stared the more and more familiar he seemed, but his mind would not function properly. As the embarrassment of the situation overpowered everything else. Finally the stranger swallowed some cereal and smiled.

"Hey mate are you going to stand there all day? I know I'm rather attractive, but I'll need to sit down here soon," he spoke in an Australian accent.

Arthur felt irritation flow through his blood at this unknown Aussie. "Don't flatter yourself, I am merely perplexed. I thought this was Alfred F. Jones' room not some self-centered, Australian arsehole," Arthur murmured with fire in every word.

The Aussie quirked an eyebrow, which Arthur noticed with hidden pleasure was almost as thick as his. "You must be Arthur. Arthur Kirkland? Al told me about you but I had no idea you would be this big of a prick," he said as he shoved another spoonful of cereal in his mouth.

Arthur felt as if he was about to explode. "Excuse me? And who exactly are you?"

The Australian frowned. "Well now I didn't introduce myself did I? Sorry, I tend to forget boring stuff like that," the green eyed teen then flashed a blinding white smile. "G'day! My name is Jett Thompson, I'm a swimmer for Team Australia," Jett said as he placed his bowl and spoon in his left hand, and stook out his right for Arthur to shake.

Suddenly Arthur felt like the biggest idiot in the world. No wonder the stranger looked familiar. Jett Thompson had been all over the news in a special on the Australian team. Sixteen years old, first games, predicted to metal in all his races, he was one of the biggest rising stars in the swimming industry. Not only that, but his younger brother was also competing in another event.

Arthur smiled awkwardly and shook his outstretched hand. "Oh it's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard so much about your skills. I do apologize for my behavior, I was expecting Alfred," he said as politely as possible. Trying not to let the embarrassment of his previous behavior show. Speaking of Alfred, where was he? He had to kill him for the lack of a proper warning.

Jett smiled, and gave a firm shake that had Arthur's arm feeling like pudding afterwards. "It's alright, it's really funny watching your face get all red," Arthur sputtered at this but the teen ignored him. "You're here to watch the events with us right? Because if you are you need to get in here quick, they'll be starting soon!" And before Arthur could even react, Jett's firm grip was on his wrist and he dragged into the room. The door shutting behind him.

"Git! Let me go!" Arthur glared at him, and rubbed his arm after he was released.

Jett walked into the room as if this was a normal occurrence, and that he had not pulled a stranger into his temporary home. "Al and Matt will be back up here soon. I hope with the drinks and food. Make yourself at home! Oh and if a little dweeb knocks on the door by the name of Gavin, don't let him in," Jett smiled as he moved towards the bathroom after sitting his bowl on a table.

Arthur quirked an eyebrow. "I never said I was staying, and who the hell is Gavin?"

The Australian laughed, his light green eyes meeting Arthur's darker emerald. "Eh just my little brother, nobody important. And you're real funny you know?"

"No I don't please enlighten me."

Jett grinned cheekily as he placed a hand on the doorknob. "I can't really. You just are. I think perhaps the funniest part is that you're just like Alfred described," he said. "Well I'll be out in a bit, I gotta take a shit. Again make yourself at home!" He said and then promptly shut the door, leaving Arthur to fume alone in the room.

Truth be told he had once wanted to meet the Australian, but now that he did he wondered why this desire ever existed. He was rude, loud, and obnoxious. No wonder he and Alfred got along so well.

Gazing around the room, he found that the space was not that far off from his and Ludwig's. Only difference being that it was more unkempt, and they had somehow managed to have at least nine consoles hooked up to a rather large television that was fixing to broadcast the upcoming event. Which- now that Arthur thought about it -he didn't know what it was. He had spent so much time training he did not even bother with the looking up the event schedule besides his own.

Taking this time to watch the screen he figured out it was women's swimming on something, Arthur was not for sure on the specifics nor did he care. To him swimming was swimming, the only reason why he knew what a 'fly' or 'breast' was because of Alfred and Francis.

Arthur sighed. Speaking of the Frog, he had texted the Englishman soon after he had left breakfast when he had been making his way down to Alfred and Jett's room. Something about wanting to get together later in the day to talk more, except with more lewd comments because it was Francis. Arthur should have expected it really. The Frenchman had stated he would contact him yesterday and if Arthur knew anything it was that Francis was not easily swayed when it came to annoying the shit out of him.

Pushing the snail-eater out of his mind for now, Arthur continued peering- gentlemen don't snoop -around the two swimmer's room in both curiosity and boredom. It was while he was sticking his nose where it didn't belong that he came across what Arthur assumed was their training bags. Looking back at the restroom to confirm Jett was still preoccupied, Arthur gave a small glance into both.

The Brit was perplexed at the amount of useless items in them. Of course there was the things he expected such as swimsuits and an insane amount of goggles and caps, but jelly beans? At least fifty granola bars? Condoms and lube? What on Earth did these two expect to happen while they were at practice? Becoming infatuated at snooping through the bags, he did not hear the heavy footsteps coming outside the door. His nose and ears too deeply buried into Alfred's infinite supply of headphones and speakers to notice.

Then all of the sudden it was if the door was launched off his hinges as a loud _bang!_ echoed around the room. Arthur only had a second to jump back from the bags and nearly fall over a chair, when he heard Alfred's over the top voice. "Guess who's back with the good stuff?"

Looking over at the doorway, he was greeted with the sight of Alfred holding what appeared to be several bottles of pop, grinning like an idiot. Standing quietly behind him, Arthur could make out Matthew sighing deeply with bags of crisps in his hands. The Canadian's hair was pulled back into a stylish man-bun, while Alfred's looked as though he had been through a hurricane.

When Alfred's blue eyes took in the Brit's form, the bottles were shoved onto the ground, and Arthur was suddenly lifted off the floor as two muscular arms pressed all the oxygen out of his lithe body in an air tight hug. "Artie you came! I honestly thought you would stay up in your room and not show up. This is great! We can watch my friends swim, and compare the other teams! Best of all I won twenty bucks from Katie!"

Arthur was unable to process anything Alfred had just said, because the oxygen to his brain was slowly disappearing. Stars were starting to dance in his vision, and in a desperate attempt to escape, he began punching the American in the back. Which did almost nothing as Alfred was talking too loud and rapidly to comprehend anything else.

Luckily Matthew was not as daft. "Al, let Arthur go. You're going to squeeze the life out of him," the Canadian said, pulling at his brother's arms with equal force.

Somehow Alfred's grip became tighter around his body. "I am not! Artie would have said something by now, right Artie?" Alfred looked down at him, and somewhere in the Brit's mind he noticed that Alfred was almost a head taller than him. However, a more rational and demanding part was focused on not being strangled by an oblivious Yank.

The punches inflicted on the swimmer's back grew stronger as Arthur comprehended what he said. This and few raspy gasps escaped his mouth. "Al-lfred… L-Let g-go!"

Finally noticing his distress, the eighteen year old released him, and Arthur fell back into a beanbag behind him. Coughing and panting heavily, he sent a glare hotter than fire at the teen. "You," pant "are such," pant "an idoit." Arthur was horrified to see the young man visibly deflate, and a doe-eyed look come across his handsome face.

"Aw Artie, I'm so sorry! Apparently according to Mattie I don't know how to control my strength-"

"Well you don't."

"-But I hope I didn't hurt you too bad. I know you are basically an old man now, and I don't want to break your fragile bones." Alfred said in complete seriousness, before whipping his head wildly about the room. "Hey, how did you even get in here? Did Jett let you in? Where is he?" Alfred then began searching around the room, as if the Australian would suddenly appear like a fairy.

Arthur could already feel a headache coming on, and a vein throbbed in his temple. "Alfred, I am twenty three and unless this is the thirteenth century I don't think that constitutes as old. Git," the Englishman muttered with his brows furrowed in a glare. His words feel deaf of the American's ears as the young man continued searching for his Australian friend. Arthur sighed into the beanbag chair. Why did he come?

It was then that Matthew came over, after setting down the crisps, and plopped himself down next to Arthur. Causing the Englishman's body to jump a little on the beanbag before relaxing back into it. Arthur turned to look at the Canadian, who slouched into the chair. "Ignore him. He is just excited that you came. When you didn't answer back last night we figured you weren't coming. I'll admit, I did not expect you to make it down here either. Thank you though, it means a lot to Al," the orchid eyed teen peered into his eyes as he explained this.

Arthur kept his face impassive and shrugged, but his heart skipped a beat. Although, he did not understand why. It should not matter to him that Alfred cared that he came, or that it _supposedly_ meant significance to the lad. The only thing that should have mattered in this conversation was an apology. He didn't text Alfred to say he was coming and had in turn, put the boys at an inconvenience. That was why his heart felt strange. It was disappointment in himself for not being a proper gentleman. Nothing more.

"The pleasure is all mine Matthew, although I must apologize for not giving you a response on whether I was coming or not. This morning I had it resolved in my mind not to come, but I changed it last minute. I hope you are not cross with me," Arthur said, trying not to fall off the beanbag. While the Canadian was trying his hardest to give Arthur room, he was an extremely tall and toned hockey player, and although Arthur was athletic with plenty of definition to his body, the Brit was considerably smaller. Making the sight of the two of them sharing a beanbag rather comical, as Arthur was either hanging off the edge or sitting in the younger man's lap.

Matthew scooted over a bit more, before staring at Arthur with a knowing look. "Are you sure you changed it last minute? I've known you for almost five years. You plan everything out in advance. I seriously doubt you did not forget about coming down here. You must have really not wanted to come, eh?

Arthur felt his face flush with embarrassment. What on Earth? Matthew was not near as bold in Rio. What the hell happened in those years to the sweet, submissive teen? The Brit gave a slight pout. "Y-Yes that is true. I did not want to come at all. You've changed more than I originally thought," Arthur muttered the latter, however, the teen heard it.

Placing his intriguing orchid colored eyes on him, Matthew peered at the older athlete. "You think so? I don't think I have. I think everyone important to me has changed, and their viewpoint is anew. However, I might of. Change is a thing you don't notice until it's too late to go back. Have I changed that much Arthur, or have you?"

The Englishman was at loss, but he shrugged and glanced off to the side. His emerald eyes landing on a stuffed koala in the floor. "Everyone has changed, especially me."

Matthew smiled almost mournfully, and picked up one of the drinks. "You wouldn't be the only one in this room," he said before taking a swig and switching his attention back to his twin, who had now figured out Jett was in the loo. Unfortunately, this did not stop the American, and as Arthur was fixing to respond on the peculiar comment, a loud _bang!_ echoed around the room. The vibrations of which Arthur could feel from head to toe.

Alfred was trying to break down the door.

"Jett! Dude hurry up already, it's going to start any minute!" Alfred whined, as shoved his shoulder into the door again, causing the whole wall to shake momentarily. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Matthew roll his. The teen observing the altercation with bored amusement. However, as another echo came around the room, Arthur felt the overwhelming need to scold the swimmer. The Brit opened his mouth to admonish Alfred- unaware of his look alike's eyes on him -but he never got the chance.

It was right then that the door to the bathroom opened, and one hotly annoyed Aussie marched out. Jett's eyes training in on his roommate before narrowing. "Al, can a man not take a shit and piss in peace? Is that not allowed in the States?" Jett spoke, while zipping up his trousers.

Alfred bounced back and forth from the top of his foot to his heel. "But Jett this is a rare opportunity in our lives! We get to sit back and relax the first day instead of stressing over our race because of the schedule change, and," Alfred paused for effect, "we get to cheer on our leading ladies in the fly!" Alfred smiled wide with his mouth slightly ajar, and making jazz hands to portray his point.

Jett stared blankly at him for a brief second before breaking into a grin, its' intensity almost matching Alfred's. "You're right, we need to be enjoying this new freedom because we know it will never happen again," the Australian said, placing his hands on Alfred's shoulders while boring intensely into his eyes to emphasize the last few words.

Arthur scrunched up his nose at this display. The two were so outgoing, no wonder they both were so close already. It had only been a few weeks since they had gotten here to practice, and they were already closer than any friends Arthur had. Friendships that had taken him _years_ to develop. If he was truthful with himself, he envied this intimacy between friends, even if he was determined not to make any this year and only head straight for gold. More importantly, however, it bothered him that the Jett's hands were still on Alfred's shoulders, and as he thought of this, he became bothered at himself for being upset over such a trivial matter.

Thinking back over their words to distract himself, the Englishman grewed perplexed. "What schedule change? I was not aware there was one," Arthur said, and felt inner satisfaction when the two separated and peered at him. This satisfaction was short lived when he noticed the look they were giving him. It was a look he was very familiar with, because he gave that look to others on a daily basis. A look of 'how can you be that stupid?' Turning his head to glance at Matthew, he was horrified to see a similar expression across his features. Arthur's ears began to turn red for no reason, and he crossed his arms over his body. "What? Why are you all bloody looking at me like that for? Is there something obvious I'm missing?"

Alfred and Jett tilted their heads in sync. "How did you not know about the change? One of the pools is messed up so a round of men's swimming got moved around. That's why we were able to be at the opening ceremony unlike in the past. That's also why you were able to be the flag-bearer right?" Jett said, turning his question to Alfred who seemed to beam.

"Yeah dude, because I was able to attend they asked me to lead the team in! How cool is that! They let Michael do that in Rio, but he wasn't competing in the next day's events. I got to follow in his footsteps and do it too, but almost all of the swim team was there with me!" Alfred smiled, and looked at Arthur. "Did you really not notice?"

Now this information was completely foreign to him before this moment, and Arthur felt incredibly idiotic for being so ignorant of it. He was one of the veterans of the games, and here a two-timer and a _rookie_ knew more than he did. However, because he was so prideful, he refused to acknowledge this mistake. Especially, to the two _boys_ in the room.

Arthur crossed his arms, and glared at Alfred like he was the stupid one- which he was. "Yes Alfred, I did notice," that was a lie. Arthur had shrugged Alfred being the flag-bearer off, as he has been too focused on avoiding his former brother's beautiful face. "I am merely curious as to why they gave it to you. There are a lot more deserving and experienced athletes on the American team, that I am sure are more than qualified for the honor."

A fleeting expression crossed the American's face, so fast Arthur could not make out what it emotion it referenced. The only thing the Brit could pick up on was a light chuckle. "Wow, you haven't changed have you Artie?" Alfred said, with a twinkle of mirth in his eyes.

Arthur felt a vein twitch at the name. He wanted nothing more than to throttle the boy right then and there, but he never got the chance. The telly lit up, and broadcasted to the world that the female swimmers were about to compete. It also illuminated light on Arthur and Matthew getting run-over like a steam engine by the swimmers present in a flurry of excitement for their fellow teammates.

The Brit felt rage course through him, as he lay face first on the carpet; his green eyes burning holes into the backs of the two swimmers, who ogled the screen. Hearing a groan and curse, Arthur looked down at his feet.

Matthew had also been shoved off the beanbag, and was slowly rising from the ground. His bun was no longer pulled back with what little style it had possessed, and was now only a tattered mess. The hair tie hanging limply in his golden blonde hair.

Arthur watched Matthew rub his temple, and then reach for the area where the bun used to shine with beauty. Noting the horror then rage that passed through the Canadian's eyes. "Son of a-"

"Mattie! Hush, they are about to start!" Alfred cried, and then had the audacity to glare at his brother before turning back to the screen.

The Brit watched the teen still for a moment, and had he not known any better he would have thought that Matthew had started watching the swimmers approach the block on screen. But then the hockey player ever so slowly turned to face him, and Arthur felt a shudder of fear race through his body. He had always wondered how the sweet boy was known on the ice as the "violet storm," and now he knew why. For the look he was being given made the hairs on his arms stand on edge. How Alfred brushed off the glare like it was nothing was a mystery.

The young teen's expression softened, as he noticed the look of horror on the archer's face, giving a shy smile. "Sorry Arthur. I am so used to giving Alfred death glares I forget how menacing they look to those outside the family," he murmured reaching for the hair tie in his locks.

Arthur slowly nodded. "It's fine Matthew. Although it is not a very gentlemanly thing to do, I can understand living with your brother."

The Canadian wrestled to get the tie out of his hair, and winced when he yanked hard enough for it to come out. Arthur could hear the _rip_ as he did so and grimaced. Pulling the tie around to see, Matthew visibly deflated when he saw the wad of hair still attached. He looked up at Arthur with a pitiful frown.

"Yeah, again sorry," Matthew groaned before examining his hair again. Arthur did not know whether the words were directed at him or to the fallen strands. The distressed teen glanced back at him. "Are you going to get up off the floor?"

Arthur looked at him perplexed before he realized he was still lying on his stomach. Face only centimeters from Alfred and Jett's floor, which had God only knows what on it. The Englishman's eyes widened, and he shot up. Almost at the same moment the buzzer went off and the girls were in the water. However, no one could have possibly heard this over Jett's and Alfred's cheers.

"GO! GO, GO, GO! BRING HOME THAT GOLD!"

"NO! DON'T LISTEN TO HIM! THEY DON'T NEED ANY MORE MEDALS! GO GIRL, BRING SOME AUSSIE PRIDE! _GO!"_

Arthur could barely hear himself think over the roar. "Alfred! You are far too loud!" He said after marching over to the teen.

Alfred gave him a sideways look, before he turned back to the telly. "BUT ARTIE! SHE WON'T BE ABLE TO HEAR ME IF I DON'T YELL!"

The archer could feel his blood pressure rise. "WHAT KIND OF LOGIC IS THAT?" He yelled into the American's ear in frustration.

Alfred grinned at him. "THAT'S THE SPIRIT ARTIE!" A second later the race ended, and both swimmers slouched in disappointment.

"Geez Japan, cut us some slack," Jett muttered as he and Alfred leaned against one another.

Arthur was unable to even see how his nation did, he was so flabbergasted at the young American's intelligence level.

He barely even noticed Matthew coming over with two mobiles in his hands, pointing one in the swimmer's direction. The two stared at him as if their worlds were crashing down. "Oh Mattie no! Don't say it is true. We just lost now this?" Alfred cried.

Arthur's growing headache intensified, while Matthew looked upon the screen of the other mobile. "Boys. I know you are enjoying this time to support your fellow teammates, however, they will have the finals for the 100 free able to go by twelve o'clock tomorrow. You two need to be preparing for the race instead of drinking pop. Be down here in the aquatic center in thirty minutes, or else we will warm-up with distance sets. Love Coach," Matthew finished and put the mobiles down.

The Brit did not understand the last part, but he assumed judging from the petrified expressions that graced over both teens that it was not good. "Oh no, anything but _distance,"_ Jett whispered, clutching Alfred's shoulder with wide eyes. The latter having an equally somber quality in his enchanting blue.

Matthew smirked at them. His amused quirk of the lip probably signified that he thought they had this coming. That this was some sort of karma for the fallen bun. "You two better get going. Isn't the aquatic center a good fifteen minutes away?"

The Brit was suddenly slammed back onto the floor, as the two rushed up in a panic. Grabbing their bags, and triple checking to see if anything was missing. In an impressive two minutes, they both were standing by the door ready to go.

"Hey mates it was lovely having you over and we will do this again after our events, but we need to go because I would rather write a two page essay than do distance," Jett said, with a feral look in his eye.

Alfred nodded in agreement. "For real though, we will do this again with more of a party, but we need to go. I would take _drylands_ over distance," Jett scrunched up his nose and peered at the American.

"I wouldn't go that far."

Matthew shrugged and grabbed a bottle of pop, helping Arthur to his feet. "Alright then go. We're not stopping you. I'll lock up, okay?"

The two beamed at the Canadian. "Thanks Mattie you're the best!" Alfred said before they opened the door and disappeared into the hall.

Arthur stared at the now empty doorway. "W-What just happened?"

Matthew smirked. "A clever lie to recite some revenge," Arthur peered incredulously at the teen.

"You made that-"

"Hey Artie."

Arthur and Matthew turned their attention back to the doorway, where Alfred's panting form stood. The Brit was fixed to the spot as the American sweetheart smiled at him with those lovely blue eyes, a few breaths shaking his body. "Before I leave I want to say thank you for coming. Please, come back again sometime." And then like that he was gone.

Arthur rolled his eyes, and crossed his arms. That silly sod. A light dusting of pink colored his pale cheeks. "My name is Arthur," he muttered.

Matthew noticed Arthur's expression, and ever so slightly the sides of his lips turned into a genuine smile. He slowly walked over to his introverted friend and clamped a hand on his shoulder, breaking Arthur out of his trance to peer up at the tall teen with wide, expectant eyes. "We should be going. I don't want to still be here when they figure out they have been tricked."

Arthur snorted but nodded in agreement. "Please, those two wankers are as dense as fog. They won't know till they have already changed into their suits and find an empty pool."

The Canadian smiled and grabbed his things along with a bag of crisps. "Probably, it wouldn't be the first time."

The two gathered up their things and locked the room and walked silently down the hall. Each too much into their own minds to absorb the fact that they were essentially walking to nowhere, and they both stayed like that until Matthew received a text message. His ringtone carrying throughout the quiet hallway. Scaring the daylights out of both men present.

"Bloody hell," Arthur grumbled, his eyebrows furrowing as he gave a hotly glare at Matthew's mobile.

The young man in turn reached for the device, giving a heartfelt gaze towards his companion. "Sorry Arthur, I forgot it was on top volume. How much do you want to bet it's Al?" He joked, while unlocking it to peer at the new message.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I thought your brother's ringtone was _American Idiot_? Nice try Matthew, but you're not getting any of my pounds today." The Englishman turned to look back at Matthew and was intrigued to see a light blush on his pale cheeks. Forever a nosy little thing, Arthur's curiosity was peaked.

"You're too smart Arthur. You're right, Al hasn't text me," Matthew said looking up, growing slightly concerned over the new look that appeared in the older man's eyes. "Arthur what are-?"

"Who texted you Matthew?" The Canadian stared at him for a moment, the wheels spinning in his mind. It was interesting to watch. Like Alfred, Arthur noticed that you could read both brother's thoughts by staring into their eyes. Each decision and analysis being broadcasted right in front of you. But these thoughts were not simple to translate. In fact, the twins were among the most frustrating to figure out, because of this feature. You could see what they were thinking, but yet you couldn't translate it.

"No one important," Matthew whispered after a while. One of Arthur's eyebrows shot up while the other narrowed down.

"If it is no one important than why not tell me? And if they are unimportant why are you blushing?" At this comment the teens face flushed scarlet, and he smirked. _Checkmate._

Arthur watched Matthew study his shoes for a moment. Then- only because it was so quiet in the hall that he was able to hear it -he heard him say: "It's Katyusha Braginski. You know Ivan's older sister? The one who is the figure skater? We've been… talking ever since the last winter games," he muttered. The poor boy's face so flushed that Arthur could only think of a bright rose in the summertime.

The Brit could only react like any friend, a sly grin dancing onto his lips. "You fancy her?"

Matthew pouted and glared at the archer, but slowly nodded his head. "She's really pretty and talented."

Arthur gave him a knowing look. "You can't forget her massive tits though."

The Canadian smiled with a twinkle in his eye. "I wasn't going to say that, but yes she has the biggest breasts-"

Arthur's mobile went off, and he groaned a little inside wondering who could spoil his fun. Pulling out of his mobile, he saw it was his reminder to go and practice the rest of the day. Arthur gave an apologetic look to Matthew. "I have to go the range. I am very sorry, but I cannot miss any practice."

The violet eyed teen seemed disappointed but accepted the news without a fight. "Alright then, it was good seeing you Arthur. You should come watch some of the events with me sometime. Al does have one tomorrow if you want to come."

Arthur hesitated. For a brief second, the image of Alfred soaring through the water came across his mind. His blue eyes filled with determination. However, Arthur shook this image off as quickly as it came. Rapidly drawing up an excuse. "Perhaps I can spend more time with you, but I would rather not deal with the crowds at the aquatic center."

Matthew sighed at the answer. "Okay, I will let Al know. See you later Arthur. Shoot straight," he said with a wave, before turning to go down another hall.

Arthur lifted his hand to wave back, but as he did so his mobile rang again. Looking at it, he saw a new message from the Frog. Reminding him of the 'catch up' dinner and… Oh fuck.

He felt a twinge of annoyance run through him. If he didn't go he would never hear the end of it, but he _had_ to practice. He couldn't go a whole day without it. But if he canceled Francis would breathe down his neck until he spent more time with him, and knowing him he would want to spent an entire _day_ to make up for the one dinner. Arthur shuddered. He could handle many things, but an entire day with Francis sounded revolting.

Arthur sighed, and was about to message the snail-eater that he couldn't come, when his eyes caught Matthew's back walking down the hallway. His long, wavy hair swishing side to side as he moved farther and farther away. A brilliant idea smashed into the Brit's mind, and the next thing he knew he was sprinting down the hall.

"Matthew! Matthew!" The teen in question turned around, a quizzical expression on his features.

"What is it Arthur?"

The Brit sighed and looked at him. He hoped he would say yes. "Could you do me a favor?"

Matthew nodded in response, his eyes studying Arthur in slight concern. "Sure, what is it?"

"I need you to go to a dinner with an acquaintance of mine. I had made plans, but I am unable to attend. Could you go in my place?" Arthur asked with his best pout.

Matthew giggled a little at the expression but agreed. "Yeah sure, just send me the time and place. I will also let them know you're practicing. Who is it anyway?" He asked with a hint of curiosity, and slight disbelief that Arthur had actually made plans to do something fun.

However, Arthur was not paying any mind to this fact. His second reminder just rang, and he could feel his anxiety of not practicing beginning to take hold. "Um nobody you have met before I don't think. Thank you again Matthew, I will see you around!" With these words, Arthur gave a quick wave and dashed down the hall to the elevator. Scrambling into it and smashing the button to get him to the correct floor.

As he waited, he texted Matthew the time for the dinner with Francis. Truthfully, he felt terrible for leaving him so abruptly with a dinner thrust upon him. With _Francis_ nevertheless. Arthur included a quick apology, and sent the message just as his floor opened.

Racing down to his room, he opened the door, and grabbed his equipment as rapidly as possible. Giving a brief hello to a startled Ludwig, before rushing back to the elevators. The only thing on his mind was his arrows and bow, and most importantly that little black dot on that target. And the gold that would be awarded at its hit.

* * *

 **A.N: Hello, hello, hello! Sorry I haven't been speedy with the update, I tried really hard to make it come out faster this time, but here we are three months later. *Sighs deeply and hides underneath my desk in shame.***

 **Part of the reason why the update took so long was because school started up again, and along with that came college applications (yay senior year!) The other reason is that I think I write way too much. When I planned this chapter, I didn't expect it to go over ten pages. I am almost at twenty. I make this process harder than it needs to be, honestly.**

 **Because of this reason, I want to mention what I am thinking my update schedule will be like for this story. I originally was going to try every two weeks, (you can see how well that worked) but I am thinking more like three. However, it is much more likely to be at least once a month. But don't worry, I will finish it. I have been planning this sucker far too long to let it slide.**

 **Anyway, here it is! Nothing really interesting happens in this chapter. Just an introduction of a few characters and ideas that** _ **will**_ **become very interesting later. I hope you all enjoyed it! And what do you think of Jett aka Australia? I don't see him portrayed very often and wanted to do it. Is he too weird? And what about Kat and Mattie? Leave a review and let me know!**

 **Oh and some of you mentioned that you got the vibe Francis had a crush on Arthur, and while I did not originally pen it with that in mind, I am not going to stop you from interpreting it that way. I do actually kind of like the idea.**

 **Again thanks for reading!**


	6. Chapter Five: The Race

_**I do not own anything.**_

* * *

Sometimes Arthur wanted to know why the universe hated him enough to not let him sleep in for once. What sins had he committed to be woken up a second day in a row before his alarm even ticked? Looking over to the other bed in the room, he was surprised to see that Ludwig and Gilbert were not the cause this time. In fact, his roommate was not even in the room. So what on Earth caused-?

 _Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Arthur nearly jumped out of his skin when the sound of a fist came crashing down. The intensity and strength behind the hits increasing with each bang. He stared groggily at the door before laying back down. He was still sore from training yesterday, and wanted nothing more than to sleep for at least another hour, and was going to wait until this stranger passed and simply ignore the knocking for the time being.

However, as the knocks grew more feverish, he begrudgingly made his way to the door. Putting on his glasses before doing so. Wrapping a white blanket tightly around his frame, he leaned on the door to listen, only to find that the knocks had stopped. Puzzled, he briefly thought they had left before a muffled voice filled his ears.

"Arthur, I know you are up. Open the door please. I need to beat the shit out of you," an exasperated voice said.

The Brit quirked a brow. Well if that didn't make him want to open the door he did not know what might. "Oh yes, I will absolutely open the door to get my arse kicked," he muttered sarcastically. "Why the hell would I do that? How stupid do you think I am? Who is this anyway?" Looking through the peephole, his eyes widened as he saw Alfred glaring with his arms crossed, and an uncharacteristic frown on the normally sunny teen's face. "Alfred?"

The frown on his face deepened. "Sorry, but no. Wrong twin. Open the door please." The Brit in question did as told, opening the door slowly and peeking around the edge of it to look at his new guest. Briefly he wondered why the teen was here, before it slammed into him. The dinner with Francis. He dumped it on him, without telling him the dinner was with the Frog. Arthur wondered how angry the Canadian was, and glanced at the deep frown on the teen's face.

"Matthew," he spoke calmly, "you are normally such a sweet boy-"

"You told me I was going to dinner with an _acquaintance._ Someone I _probably_ would know. Imagine my surprise when I see _Francis_ sitting at the table." Matthew's voice didn't sound angry, more expersated than anything else which was good for him. It meant no harm was coming toward him. However, the teen's gaze hardened at the Brit as he waited on a response.

He thought for a moment before he glared back. "How the hell was I supposed to know you and Francis had met before? You are a winter athlete and he is a summer. Granted dropping you with him is ungentlemanly of me and is horrible considering the fact he is a Frog, but how was I supposed to know you two had already been introduced?"

Matthew sighed deeply and rubbed his temple. "Yes Arthur, we are in different fields, but he is my brother's biggest rival. Of course I know who he is, and if Al ever finds out I spent an entire dinner with him I'm a dead man."

Arthur shifted from foot to foot in discomfort, but his brows narrowed over his eyes. "If it is such a sin to have dinner with him why did you stay the entire time?"

"Because it would be extremely rude to just get up and leave, especially after he went through the trouble to make reservations at this five-star restaurant," Matthew sighed, his cheeks slightly tinted pink.

The Brit's eyes widened. "Five-stars? He was going to take me to a bloody five-star dinner?"

Arthur couldn't believe his ears. He hadn't given much thought to what Francis had planned, and in truth he should have expected this. The pompous git wouldn't eat anything of low quality. Still, it surprised him that he had planned on taking him there. Probably the only reason he was going to was to make fun of him somehow. Say something about his 'bad tastes' or 'awful cooking' again, which he did not understand. He was an excellent cook if he said so.

Matthew glanced at him suspiciously behind his glasses, slowly taking in Arthur's wide eyes and reddening cheeks before a small, smug smile worked its way onto his face. "He _was,_ and although I am upset you dumped your date on me, that was by-far the best food I have ever had in my entire life."

"Oh wipe that smug grin off your face. I should have known that the Frog would only eat the finest food he could get his hands on- wait. Francis is not my date! It's just that he was so annoying adamant about spending time with me, I agreed to go to dinner with him to get him off my back!" Arthur was practically yelling by the end. His face red in embarrassment. How dare he suggest that him and Francis had a date!

The teen only smiled softly. "Whatever makes you sleep at night Arthur, but let me just say he did talk about you rather fondly." Arthur frowned at this. They talked about him? He didn't know how he felt about that, but whatever feeling he had it wasn't a great one.

"I seriously doubt that. He talked shit, and you are just being nice," he muttered before rubbing his arm and sighing. "But Matthew, I am sorry. Did you have fun?" He asked the question more weakly than he would have liked.

The Canadian pondered on the question with a thoughtful look going across his features. It was only now that Arthur realised that the teen was wearing a grey shirt with khakis shorts. His long hair hanging about his face looseley. A lanyard around his neck that, as Arthur peered closer, read that it was an access pass to an event today. Arthur frowned. What was today? He pushed up his glasses and stared at the lanyard for a moment longer before realising it was a swimming event of some sort. Right. Matthew had told him about that. No doubt the entire community would be talking about it later.

The archer jumped a little when the teen spoke again. "I... had fun, I suppose," his eyes stared at the floor. "We talked about hockey and swimming for a while. Then he discovered I know French, and we talked about that, in French of course. Then we talked about my family- not Al though -and a little about you. Then we went our separate ways," he muttered so softly that Arthur barely heard him.

"Sounds riveting, he didn't harass you did he? I will gladly punch him for you if he did."

A snort was heard from the teen, and Arthur let loose a small smile. "A little, especially when we first starting speaking in French. Overall, he kept it to himself which was a pleasant surprise. I mean I'm not complaining but I expect more… you know?" His voice tapered off as he went on, and he looked toward the older man.

Arthur nodded in understanding. "Trust me, I unfortunately do. This is the snail-eater we are talking about." Matthew shook his head and shifted the center of his weight to another foot as a smile came onto his face.

The Brit silently watched him. He couldn't get the thought of them discussing him out of his mind. Of course he expected for them to talk about the sudden change and the situation, but from the way Matthew spoke they must have talked about _more_ than just that. So, what did they talk about? Matthew said it was nothing bad, but Arthur wouldn't put it past Francis. They probably had a lengthy conversation on his eyebrows. However, Arthur was more concerned if they talked about Rio or not. He had to find out. The image of Francis and Matthew whispering silently to themselves and laughing at him burned in his mind.

"So," he tried to sound casual. "You both spoke about me? What exactly about?" His eyes had been staring intenlty at the door as he said this, and he moved them back to the Canadian and was perplexed to see an eyebrow raised. "What? Why are you staring at me like that? You two were talking about me, I have a right to know what was-"

"You lost that right the minute you dumped him on me." He looked at his phone, and then glared back up at the Brit. "You want to know so bad, go beg your date."

Arthur sputtered as his eyes narrowed, and his face flamed. "Now you listen here young man. I apologized so I no longer want to hear it. You cannot deny my rights, and- most importantly -Francis is not and never will be my bloody date!" He huffed and crossed his arms. His emerald eyes somehow seeming wider as a swirl of emotions dashed through them. New greens and golds flecking throughout them as he glared thoroughly at the hockey player. He would rather drink toilet water than to date Francis!

Matthew only smiled softly, the corner of his lips carrying a knowing secret. "Wow, Francis was right," he muttered and checked his phone again.

"What?" Arthur took a step further out into the hall. "Right about what? What was Francis right about? He was talking rubbish about me wasn't he? I knew it! That wanker has… has well uh, well I don't what he has been doing, but I know he has been doing something to-"

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Uh-huh, yeah Arthur. Francis is out to get you-" sarcasm dripped into every word "-and I'm sorry but I have to leave here soon. Al has got an event today. I think it is a free or something. I don't know really what stroke is until I see it, but if I miss the event I will never hear the end of it."

Arthur calmed at his words, his eyes drifting back to the lanyard. "Oh, well alright. I am not going to hold you back from your brother. But Matthew let me make this clear: Francis is not my date and he is always out to make my life hell."

"Is he though?" Matthew tilted his head slightly. His long hair falling a little before he straightened back up. His eyes glanced at him in sudden apprehension. "Are you sure you don't want to come to the event with me? Francis and Jett will be swimming too, and I know Al would _love_ it if you watched-"

"Thank you for the offer but I will have to respectfully decline," Arthur's face had become stony, and his tone hard.

There was no way he was going to watch a stupid swimming event. He had no reason to. It was just a bunch of grown men splashing around. Although Arthur did enjoy seeing them race sometimes, he did not _want_ to go. He did not want that adrenaline, or that tension, and he _did not_ want to see the beautiful Alfred F. Jones soar across the water. He was going to do what he came here to do: redeem himself and win. That was all. As soon as Matthew left, he was going to march his English arse down to the lift to go out and shoot.

Matthew nodded in understanding, but in realms of his lilac eyes there was hint of disappointment. "Okay, well, I will leave you then. See you around Arthur." The teen turned to leave and Arthur stood there watching him for a moment in thought. Something inside of him wanted to grab his arm, and have the teen change his mind. But that feeling dissolved as quick as it came when all of a sudden the teen whipped back around swifty. His hair flowing around his shoulders to catch up, not unlike models in the commercials.

"Oh Arthur I almost forgot!" Then, before he could even process it, Matthew's fist connected with his left shoulder. The Brit barely caught himself from falling, catching the frame of the door with his right hand. Pain shot across his shoulder and arm, and he stared at the Canadian with utter shock written on his face.

"W-Well what the bloody-? Matthew how-? What? You tosser! What the hell was that for?" Arthur inwardly cringed as his voice grew higher and higher with each word.

Matthew looked apologetic, but his eyes glowed. "Sorry Arthur. I am still annoyed you dumped Francis on me and stood him up. I'm sorry to have hurt your shoulder, but I had to get my annoyance out somehow. I don't have hockey for a few a more weeks, and Al is competing." He then turned to leave, and called back over his shoulder. "I'm so sorry! See you later!" And with a turn down a hall he was gone.

Arthur grabbed his hurt shoulder and stared intently at the floor, his bushy brows furrowed. Matthew had changed more over the four years than originally thought. It seemed like yesterday when he had met the shy boy in Rio. Alfred had dragged him by the shirt to meet Arthur, and had bounced around talking both their ears off. It was only when Alfred had gotten distracted and wandered off did Arthur get to hear a barely audible hello. Then trying to have a full conversation at the time had been excruciatingly painful for both parties. However, when Alfred declared his so called 'independence,' it was Matthew that had sided with him. He was one of the few people that did. He was also the only one to come find him in a pub in east London almost two years after Rio and rip the whiskey bottle from his hands, and then keep track of him for the next few months so he didn't get pissed again. He even got Arthur back into archery and the games again.

Arthur closed the door and sighed. Matthew had changed so much. It made the twenty-three year old feel older than he was. He wondered what had happened to the boy to make him change so much in such a short span of time. Alfred too. Maybe he should ask- oh blimey!

He stopped his thoughts when his shoulder accidently hit the wall as he walked back to his bed. Sitting down on the mattress, he grabbed his aching shoulder. His face scrunching up from the pain. Matthew had definitely changed that was for sure. He was in a world of pain thanks to his solid punch. The Brit thought that perhaps the boy wasn't even using his full strength. Even back when they were fourteen, the twins were abnormally strong. No doubt they were more defined, and carried more strength from the constant training and- ooh fuck! Another round of pain shot through him. There was no way he had used all his might. If he had, Arthur's shoulder would have broken immediately.

Biting his lip, he stretched his arm every now and then, wincing in pain. He reached for the blanket to find it was not there with him. Looking around he swore when he saw it crumbled in a heap on the floor by the door. He had forgotten he had taken it over there. Why did he have to be an idiot? Taking one last look at the blanket he decided it wasn't worth it, and began thinking on a more important matter.

He really hoped that the pain would die down soon so he could go practice. That had been his plan for the rest of the day, and he had no idea what else he would do. However, a few minutes later when he moved his shoulder to test it again and was overwhelmed with agony, he decided against practice. He prayed that the punch did not affect his aim when he did get back to practice tomorrow. If it did, Matthew was in for a firestorm.

Arthur peered around the room. To be honest, the archer was more than a little concerned that maybe Matthew did hit too hard, and he would not be able to compete. If he could not compete, what was the purpose of him returning in the first place? All those hours of training gone to oblivion, and the only thing he could do would be to sit by and watch the games happen without him. He would be the laughingstock of the community _again_ , and he would be left without a way to redeem himself.

The concerned faces of Elizabeta, Ludwig, Matthew, and Francis flashed in his memory. He shook his head. What if he was unable to compete? He would have to live with their pity his entire life. He would never hear the end of it from his family. Especially his brothers.

He would suddenly be… useless. Completely useless. All because he couldn't compete, and his legacy would only be that stupid quarrel with Alfred. Not his medals, his records, or the fact he broke the dry streak Team GB had had for years in archery. Nope, it would just be that fight. A fight that never would have happened in the first place if hadn't been so damn controlling. If he hadn't become friends with Alfred. If he hadn't gotten jealous over the popularity and new friends Alfred had made. If he hadn't banned him from seeing his friends. If he hadn't gone to him after his last race out in the pouring rain, and demanded him to stop everything. To stop leaving him, to stop being such an idiot, to stop making Francis and _his friends_ side with him and to go back to being only his. But the two then collapsed into a fit of venomous words towards one another that had Arthur crying-

No.

Arthur clutched his shoulder, not even noticing the pain. He shut his eyes tightly. He wouldn't think about. He couldn't. There are certain memories everyone has locked away for specific reasons. But for the emerald eyed archer, he was not for sure on why he wanted that memory gone. It was humiliating yes, but why it affected him so badly he didn't know.

The Brit was in such a swirl of emotions and memories that his mind could not concentrate on anything around him. Desperate for some noise in the loud silence his mind had created, he grabbed the remote on the nightstand next to him and pressed the power button.

Instantly, the telly came to life. Arthur stared at it for a while before realising that whatever it was was on a commercial break, with some strange Japanese candy he had never heard of dancing on the screen. He breathed in deeply.

This was better. His mind was beginning to clear. The Brit smiled. He had even begun to forget what he had been thinking about.

Arthur watched the telly for a few more moments. He briefly thought that these commercials were going on for a long time when the volume suddenly picked up, and two announcers began speaking. The thick-browed man rolled his eyes. It was the Olympic channel. He should have known.

Looking back up, he was horrified to see it was the swimming event Matthew had discussed with him earlier. Arthur reached for remote next to him. His mind did not need this right now.

However, as he looked back up to the screen, he saw it. The swimmers had begun to come out, and the announcers were talking excitedly about each one. Although swimming was not his favorite event- that would always be reserved for archery -he did have to admit it was _damn_ entertaining to watch. Much to the protest of the logic part of his brain, he slowly sat the remote back down on the mattress. His eyes glued to the screen.

He watched with mild interest the athletes taking up the first two lanes before realizing was unable to recognise either of them. He blinked. Blimey, was he really getting that old in the community that he was unable to recognize some of his fellow athletes? Granted, even back in London he did not know everyone, but he at least knew who was on what teams!

Lucky, lane three came up before Arthur could dwell on how old he felt. The Brit groaned but eventually smiled when Jett came onto the screen, and headed towards his lane. Although the other athletes had been serious coming out and had only smiled for the crowd maybe once when they first entered, the Australian's beaming grin would not leave his face. Not even when he got to his lane and began to take off his jacket did that smile falter. The announcers talked briefly about him. How this was his first games, his times at the trails, how well he was expected to do, and they even mentioned his brother who was also in the games.

Arthur shook his head as the teen continued to smile as the camera panned away. Although the Aussie was a little too outgoing for his tastes and a prick, he had to admit that the teen never lost his humor.

However, Arthur's breath caught when the next swimmer came out onto the floor. He barely could hear the poorly concealed excitement of the announcers, as they spoke rapidly to each other and to those watching.

Coming in lane four was none other than America's favorite, Alfred F. Jones. With a Hollywood smile on his tanned face, as he came out and waved to the crowd. He wore a hoodie with the logo for Team USA this year, and his hair was hidden underneath his cap also with the same logo and colors on it. Arthur found himself mildly disappointed that the teen's stubborn cowlick had also been tamed under the cap, and that he was not wearing his glasses.

' _And there he is! Alfred F. Jones! He sure has changed a lot since Rio, right Brandon?'_

' _Why, yes Rachel, he has. He is favored to take home many medals for Team USA, a lot of them gold or silver. Which is really no surprise. The boy did outstanding at Rio, and he had one of the highest qualifying times at the Trials in history.'_

' _A lot is expected from him, that is for sure. This is to be his first individual race of the games and he will be competing in several more. We will also watch him the 400 meter free relay later with his fellow teammates'_

' _Jones will definitely help bring home gold for the United States.'_

The announcer's voices reached the Brit's ears, as he continued to follow the American's every move. He was puzzled as he watched the teen walk over to his lane while scanning the crowd. Almost as if he was searching for something. But then as he reached the lane he most have found whatever he was looking for, as his beautiful blue eyes lit up, and he waved enthusiastically to the stands.

The Brit frowned as he thought of who could make the swimmer that happy. His eyebrows furrowing as he moved his shoulder, wincing as pain- oh right. Arthur scrunched up his nose at his own stupidity. It was Matthew of course. However, as the camera began to pan away, Arthur could not help but notice that Alfred's eyes were still searching for someone in the crowd.

" _...Al would_ love _it if you watched."_ Matthew's words from earlier rang in his ears. The Brit blushed and shook his head. There was no way Alfred was looking for him. It was foolish to even think such a notion.

Turning his attention back to the screen, Arthur rolled his eyes and snorted at the same time. Francis was gliding towards his lane all the while blowing kisses to the crowd. He laughed quietly to himself. The Frog looked a little stupid trying to look suave with all his hair forced under a skintight cap.

' _Ah, and here is Jones' biggest competitor besides Thompson! Francis Bonnefoy swimming for Team France like he has done since his first appearance in London. I have got to say, even though he is getting older, you would not know it from his times at Trials.'_

' _Brandon I have to agree. Normally as swimmer's age, it is harder for them to keep up their times, but Bonnefoy has done remarkably well. I am rather excited to see him race, especially since- as you may have heard -there are rumors that after these games he will retire.'_

Retire! Arthur sat upright. The Frog was serious about that? He had mentioned it before at the parade, but did not think he _meant_ it. Even if they were just rumors, that was a rather large development. A development that Arthur was not particularly fond of, because although he hated the Frog, he wouldn't know what to do if he left. The games would be quieter but boring without him. Not that he would ever tell Francis this.

' _Yes, but they are only rumors for now. I am also interested in his races, as he is competing in several, but I am more interested in the rivalry between him and Jones.'_

' _Oh yes, it is something. Out of the center, they talk rather pleasantly but in here you can tell the air changes. Even now you can see it! Look as they both tense up around one another! Then in the pool it becomes a thunderstorm. In all my years I haven't seen anything like it.'_

' _Indeed. Neither have I. But we will have to wait just a tad longer before we can watch, because coming up in lane six is-'_

Arthur stopped focusing here. He heard the words the announcers were saying and he saw the athletes come in, but he wasn't truly paying attention. He found that he did not recognize the other swimmers as they came in like he did with the first two. Looking at all the swimmers, the Englishman was mildly depressed that he didn't even know half of the swimmers up there and frowned deeply. That frown stayed in place as he felt his mobile buzz next to him.

Glancing at it, he scowled when he saw it was a message from his brother Henry. Picking up the phone, he read it quickly as all eight swimmers came next to their lanes, ready to race. Apparently, his brother wanted to see him sometime. Arthur rolled his eyes, but sent a quick message telling him to come up in an hour, and threw his phone back onto the bed. Although he dreaded spending any amount of time with his brother, he knew the consequences of not seeing him at all were lethal.

Arthur's body tensed as a whistle sounded and the swimmers got on top of the blocks. Quickly they adjusted themselves, making sure they were positioned right. Their caps and goggles ready. The archer's body tightened when the announcers went silent, and a robotic voice on the screen spoke.

" _Take your mark."_

All of the swimmers grabbed the edges of their blocks before freezing. Their bodies taunt, and faces devoid of any emotion. Even Jett's face was without its' usual smile, and instead the utmost of concentration was on his face.

Arthur nearly jumped out of his skin when the buzzer went off.

The swimmers dove into the water almost as soon as they heard it. For a moment they stayed under the surface, getting as far as they could before they popped up and started the stroke. Arthur did not really know every stroke, but he knew what they were doing must have been the freestyle. Each arm coming over next to their heads before going back down into the water, and the other coming up to repeat the same process on the other side. Their legs kicking as fast as they could. The swimmers were at the wall now where they flipped, and pressed the top of both feet against the wall. Pushing off with all their might. They kicked under the water for a while, before coming back up and beginning the stroke again.

Tied for the lead were lanes four and five. Alfred and Francis.

"Go," Arthur shouted. "Go, you're almost there!"

He was being ridiculous. He was chastising Alfred yesterday for yelling at the screen, and here he was doing it. However, he could understand him now. Arthur could feel the blood pumping throughout his entire body. He was nervous, and he was not even the one _competing_. This feeling reminded him of when he was younger and watched the archers compete. The idols he looked up to firing shot after shot without missing a beat.

They were coming into the last 25 meters. The Englishman was literally on the edge on the bed. The adrenaline masking the pain in his shoulder for now.

The camera was focused in on the two in first. Arthur could see their muscles flexing and reacting to the intensity they were forced to handle. The water splashing off their bodies and dripping back into the pool. Their heads every once and awhile coming up sideways to reveal their rigid faces and quick intake of air, before they went back down into the water.

They were less than 10 meters from the wall. The crowd was going crazy. The world record line was just slightly in front of their fingertips when Alfred began to pull ahead.

Arthur was near ready to pull his hair out.

Alfred was in the lead, but Francis could easily catch up. They were less than 5 meters from the wall now. The world record line was now level with Alfred's hand.

He was so close.

Somehow, the boy's strokes became faster. Then, with one final stroke, Alfred slammed his hand into the wall. Making sure it was hard enough for the sensors to catch it.

Alfred won. Not only did he win, but he beat the world record by two seconds.

Arthur jumped off his bed and yelled in happiness. He ran a hand through his blond hair as he watched Francis, Jett, and the others come in a few seconds later. Then the camera zoomed in on Alfred, who had turned around to look at the scoreboard. The teen's face lit up in the most brilliant smile Arthur had ever seen, and he let go of the wall and pumped his fist in the air. Causing him to fall back down into the water for a moment before coming back up, the smile still on his face. Jett met him at the lane ropes, and they embraced each other in a hug. Both with equally wide smiles.

The archer couldn't believe what he had just watched.

If only he had been there.

Arthur's smile faded at the thought. He could have been there. He had been invited. Arthur bit his lip and sighed. There had been no reason for him to go, he told himself. But even he knew that he could have easily came up with one. If not to watch Alfred or Jett, he could have gone to watch Francis. But Arthur knew the real reason why he didn't go. The other athletes would see him and think he still was so heartbroken from Rio that he came just to see Alfred. He would be the gossip for weeks. How could he recover from that?

Arthur watched Alfred say something to Jett before swimming over to Francis and awkwardly hug him. When Alfred pulled away and took off his cap, Arthur saw the look on the Frenchman's face. It was stony, incredibly unlike him, and Arthur knew that he wasn't happy at all with how the race turned out.

The camera showcased Alfred's smiling face and sapphire blue eyes once last time before showing the scoreboard.

In first, with a new world record time in the 100 free, was Alfred. In second, by less than half a second was Francis, and in third was Jett, by less than three seconds of Alfred's time.

The Brit slowly sat back down on the bed, wincing as the pain in his shoulder came back. He couldn't understand why, but as he watched them a melancholy feeling washed over him.

He was happy for Alfred, but why did he feel like there was a hole in his chest when he watched him and Jett hug, or when he took off his goggles and saw his blue eyes? Eyes as blue as the water around him. And when the scoreboard faded away to reveal a reporter standing there with a smiling but panting Alfred, that feeling washed over him again.

Uncomfortable, Arthur grabbed the remote.

" _So Alfred, you won! How does it feel? Is it everything you worked for?"_

 _Alfred rubbed the side of cheek. "Dude, I feel awesome, and it means the world to me. I never thought I would beat this record, and I am just so grateful that I won. It was a good race. The other competitors gave it their all, and overall it felt amazing. "_

 _The reporter smiled at Alfred. "Well we are happy for you Alfred, and everyone back home is happy for you too. We can imagine that your family is too. We spotted your brother in the stands."_

" _Oh yeah, Mattie was yelling for me the whole time, but we both are competitive and we support each other so it's not really that surprising. Mom and Dad are here too, I can see them. I just wish a dear friend of mine was-"_

Arthur shut off the telly and laid back on the bed. That feeling was still there.

Why though? He wasn't Alfred's friend. He didn't even particularly _like_ the boy. Alfred hadn't even remembered what had happened at Rio and was in turn unaffected by it. He should scorn the teen. Yet he couldn't, and he didn't know why.

Rubbing his temple, he groans as he feels his phone buzz underneath his mobile and seeing the confirmation message, he swore. Well there goes his plans for the rest of the evening. Getting up slowly to not cause anymore pain, he quickly begins tidying the place and goes to put his contacts in. His mind already forgetting the race.

He couldn't think about it anymore. Afterall, he had less than an hour to prepare for his brother.

* * *

"So you haven't been drinking? Mum worries about you, you know."

"No I haven't. I have been without a drop for several months, without you, James', or Patrick's help might I add."

"Please Arthur, like we could help you. James and Patrick can down a bottle of whiskey before I can count to two."

Arthur sat cross-legged on his bed, his shoulders tense including the one that was injured. However, he refused to show pain at the moment. His mind and glare were currently focused on the man sitting on the chair next to the bed. The man's body was completely relaxed, with an arm propped up on the back of the chair. His hair was messy but pulled away from his face, with

strands falling toward his left ear. He was dressed comfortably in a black jacket, and his shoes were by the door. While he appeared to be relaxed, one look at his bright emerald eyes and narrowed bushy brows would prove otherwise.

The man with the exact same eyes and brows as Arthur was his older brother Henry Kirkland.

Arthur was the youngest of four children, all of which were boys. The eldest was a red-haired twenty-six year old named James, who lived in Edinburgh most of the time. The second eldest was Patrick who had fiery red hair and a plethora of freckles, and who was currently studying in Dublin. There was Henry, who had light brown hair and a few freckles and had just gone back to Wales to get his graduate degree in filmmaking. Then lastly, there was Arthur. Who unlike his two eldest brothers who had their mother's red hair, and Henry who had their father's brown hair, Arthur had blond.

All four had their mother's emerald green eyes and thick eyebrows. All four were loved equally by their parents, and all four were introduced to archery when they were younger. Not only archery but fencing, rugby, track, cricket, and golf. They were exposed to so many different sports in the hopes that they might get involved in something athletically. This strategy worked. Rugby and cricket stayed a favorite between all four, but they developed off into their personal favorites. James on golf, Patrick on track, Henry on fencing, and lastly Arthur on archery. However, after a while the boys stopped their sport in favor of other things.

But Arthur didn't.

Arthur adored archery and was not going to give it up easily. His parents noticed and got him extra lessons, better bows, and better coaches. Which lead to him being spotted and his Olympic stardom. Which is also why the three eldest were slightly jealous of the younger. This jealously that started when Arthur was fourteen, only added to the present teasing from the three.

Teasing that lead to arguments and even fights. Fights that would only triple in frequency when the Kirkland family would go visit their long time friends in France the _Bonnefoys,_ where then it was Francis, his brothers, and sometimes Antonio and Gilbert shooting at him with his own arrows.

Needless to say, Arthur still held a grudge over his brothers. Making their relationships sketchy even to this day.

Arthur shifted on the bed. His brow only furrowing. "Oh I must have forgotten," sarcasm dripping into every word, "that my brothers couldn't stop me from drinking myself into a stupor because they were already busy doing so. Right, my apologies Henry. How dare I forget."

The older Kirkland inhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing. "Watch it smartmouth. James and Patrick were going through their own problems at the time. While it is true we could have been there more for you, I fear we would have only made it worse."

Arthur stared hard at his brother. "You're right. Had you three been there I would have starting drinking quicker. Hell, maybe then I would have gotten some help once you all had lead me to alcohol poisoning." He crossed his arms and looked away with an angry pout. Oh how he wished his brother would just leave already. Henry had easily been here over an hour and he _still_ didn't know the true reason to why he was here. Only nonstop lectures and arguments.

Henry rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Arthur, you're being ridiculous and stubborn. Like you _always_ are. It's why you and James are always at each other's throats, because you two are so alike. But I'm not here to deal with your grumpy arse," Henry's eyes suddenly lost their glare. The flecks of brown in his emerald green now twinkling in another emotion. "Mum really is worried about you. You haven't even tried to call her and Dad since whatever happened at Rio."

Arthur turned his gaze to the white sheet on the bed. Henry was no longer leaning nonchalantly on the chair, instead he was upright. Running a hand through his hair, he studied his blond brother. "She barely even found out about the Olympic family arrangement they established this year, and was heartbroken when she couldn't come. But she was more heartbroken when you didn't tell her. You didn't even tell Mum or Dad that you were competing again this year! No. Instead a phone call comes from some random Canadian- who talks quieter than a mouse by the way -telling us that you had been getting pissed in London somewhere!" Henry's voice had rose in volume at this point. Frustration and anger peeking into the Brit's voice.

Arthur played with the sheet in between his fingers. "Why didn't you all call then? You made it worse when you didn't try help me. No acknowledgment of me whatsoever. No phone calls. Nothing," he murmured quietly.

The archer couldn't think properly, and no good counterarguments or insults could come to mind. Normally in this situation against his brother he would use anger, but for some reason, it wasn't there. To be honest, he knew why he had ignored his parents during all of this. It was partially because he needed to be alone, and that he didn't want them to see him like that. But the main reason was that he simply couldn't face them. Their disappointment over his life. He should have called. He deserved this lecture. But he was stubborn, and he refused to be chastised by his brother. So, he tried to direct the blame back onto Henry.

It didn't work.

Henry's eyes flashed. "Oh don't you start this with me. Why didn't _we_ call? We didn't because that Canadian-"

"His name is Matthew," Arthur barked, some of his anger finally stirring.

"-Who? Whatever, nevermind, but he told us you didn't _want_ to talk to us. That you were fine with just him helping you. You know, he was the one that gave Mum updates on you. How we figured out you were going to Tokyo before the media released it," Arthur's eyes widened. Matthew had called his family? He clutched the sheets tightly in his hands. The teen would be in for an earful next time he saw him. "But do you know how hurt Mum was?"

Henry frowned deeply, he was on the edge of the chair still looking at Arthur who refused to met his eyes. He breathed out to calm himself, and a second later he spoke again. His voice much softer. "Look. I… We know that Alfred kid," Arthur's heart sped up, "is what really hurt you. I just don't understand why you didn't involve us." Henry's eyes had begun twinkling again, but Arthur could not see them.

The archer rubbed his temple. He felt a headache coming on, one that stemmed from frustration and stress. Why couldn't Henry understand that he _couldn't_ include them in the mess? "I didn't involve you all because Alfred was- and is -none of your businesses. My personal affairs are not to become the affairs of the family."

The older Kirkland's brow rose up in disbelief. "What? What are you talking about? We are family, and family sticks together and helps each other. Not toughing it out on your own and ignoring each other-"

Arthur's head finally rose to meet his brother's eyes. The green in his eyes swirling into pools. "Like you did to me when I was younger? Well excuse me for not having the most pleasant of experiences, and for having trust issues with my family. Issues that _you_ helped start," Arthur yelled venomously.

Henry stilled in the chair, words unable to reach his tongue. For a while neither spoke. They only stared at the other. Their emeralds swirling in the same movements, with browns and golds popping out with each new thought they had. Thoughts they kept to themselves but in truth should have said. The only sound that could be heard, was the voices of those in rooms nearby, and the faint gush of the air conditioner.

Arthur knew he had hit a nerve. That had been his goal. It was always the same every time he actually talked to one of his brothers. Each one had a different flaw. Patrick was the easiest to get in a fight with, James and him could argue for hours, and Henry always made calculated remarks to him he couldn't rebute. However, Henry was always the one trying to make the brothers come to a peace in their teen years, but even then there was tension.

Arthur had so many emotions running through him at the moment, he didn't know which one to really focus on. Sadness was prominent, but he refused to let that show in front of anyone. The few times he had only served to bite him where it hurt. But anger was easy and quick, it is what he used around his brothers. It was what he knew worked on them. It made them leave him alone faster, and with his emotions so haywire he couldn't focus. He couldn't win the game if he couldn't focus, and he _had_ to win.

Henry finally seemed to make a decision in his mind. He inhaled deeply then sighed slowly, leaning back all the way into the chair and crossing his arms. His eyes were closed for a moment before he opened them again. His voice was clear. "I will be the first to admit we didn't treat you the best in the world when we were kids. And-" his voice cracked slightly "-I know you hate us. But you can't keep shoving us away, especially now that you have included Mum and Dad into the fight," Henry ran a hand through his hair again. Arthur stared blankly at him. "We need to sit down together and talk. You, me, James, and Patrick. We've got a lot of problems that need to be discussed and-"

 _Knock, knock, knock._

Both heads spun towards the door. The sudden noise had nearly scared the daylights out of both of them, but the tension that had been lingering in the air had been broken by the intrusion. Much to Arthur's relief.

Henry glanced quizzically at the door. "Were you expecting anyone besides me?"Arthur shook his head and got up.

Now that he thought on it, he had no idea who could be at his door. Ludwig had a room key, but he knew Arthur's brother was in the room and wouldn't disturb them like that unless it was an emergency. Since there was no yelling, Arthur knew nothing dire had happened which ruled him out.

Maybe it was Matthew. The Canadian did say he would see him later, but never did say exactly when. He didn't receive the text from Henry until Matthew was gone, so he couldn't have known he was there or else he wouldn't have disturbed either. Perhaps it was Matthew. Good, Arthur thought with a frown. They would have a strong conversation on his family, and he would figure out how the hell he got his mother's phone number. Not to mention his shoulder still hurt like hell.

But as he got closer. He became more and more doubtful. Besides this morning, Matthew had always called or messaged him when he was about to come over. Better yet, he always arranged for them to meet. Giving the Brit time to prepare. Plus, the teen was likely out with his brother celebrating. Matthew was ruled out from his list, and so was Alfred and Jett for that matter unless they came to drag him to a party, which he would have declined.

So, who was at his door?

Finally there, he went to look through the peephole when he heard it. Someone was singing. They were singing rather elegantly actually, very prettily. Unfortunately, they were singing in French.

Ignoring the peephole, Arthur opened the door. "Frog! What the hell are you doing here?"

Francis stopped singing mid-lyric. His blue eyes widened in surprise before they relaxed, and a smooth smile came across his face. "I wanted to see you, mon cher. I know you can't live without seeing my gorgeous face for one day, so I stopped by to soothe your aching heart," Francis joked, while grabbing a strand of his hair and pushing it back.

Arthur leaned against the door frame and rubbed his temple. "Francis, I am in no mood to deal with your pervertedness right now. I have company at the moment," Francis eyes gained a spark of curiosity to them.

"Oh? And might I ask who?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Might you ask whom? And no, you may not. It you will excuse me, my so called 'aching heart' can wait." Arthur stood up straight and grabbed the door, and almost successfully shut it in the Frog's face until a foot stopped it.

Looking down at the fine, leather shoe, Arthur turned his gaze up to Francis. "Move your foot before I take one of my arrows and stab it."

Francis ignored the threat and grabbed the edge of the door to prevent it from closing. "Mon Lapin, I need to see you."

"Well, you're seeing me right now. Good day and goodbye," Arthur tried opening and shutting the door again but Francis caught it easily.

" _Arthur_ , s'il vous plaît, I need to see you."

The Brit stopped trying to smash the Frenchman's foot and hand with the door. It was rare that Francis ever called him by his real name in a way that wasn't to mock him, and his voice now sounded… distraught.

Arthur turned his eyes up to the swimmer and took in his form. It had been awhile since he had seen the Frenchman not dressed to the nines. His hair was not pulled back into a ribbon like he normally would wear it. Instead, his blond hair seemed to droop against face and shoulders. His clothing was wrinkled and appeared to be something akin to nightclothes. The bags around his eyes seemed darker, and his eyelids were tinted slightly red. Then his sky blue orbs were foggy with clouds. As if a rainy day had come across them, making them appear grey.

Arthur was rooted to the spot. It had been years since he had since Francis like this.

He must of have been staring too long, as Francis tried to laugh but it came out bitter and sorrowful. "Sorry to bother you when you have guests. I should have messaged before I came. I will go now," Francis mumbled and turned to leave.

Arthur was awoken from his memories and grabbed the sleeve of Francis' smokey grey coat before he realized it. Pulling it towards him in an effort to keep him from leaving.

Francis turned his head back to peer at the Englishman. Who opened the door and moved to let him in. "Come in. They won't mind and neither will I," Arthur replied, his voice soft and eyes staring at the ground. To be honest, Henry probably minded but this was his room dammit, and he could invite in whoever.

A small smile tugged on Francis' lips, and he nodded and walked into the room. Once inside, Arthur shut the door behind him. The Englishman barely heard the quiet 'merci' before they both made their way further into the room.

Henry had been leaning backwards on his chair in an effort to see who was there. Once his eyes caught sight of the Frenchman, he was so flabbergasted by his appearance he let his chair fall back on its' front legs with a loud _clunk._

Francis froze when he saw who the guest was. Blinking his wide blue rapidly just to confirm that it was in fact Henry sitting there. Arthur begrudgingly came to stand next to Francis. As annoying as the swimmer was, he'd rather deal with him and his constant flirting than the interrogation of his brother.

The three stared at each other. An awkward tension quickly filling the room.

Francis coughed, directing the Kirkland brothers' attention to him and nodded politely at Henry. "Henry, it's good to see you. It's been a while."

The Brit scanned him up and down, before giving a light smile. "Hello Francis, it has been a while. I think I saw you last at Lisa's graduation. How is she doing?"

Arthur lightly smiled as the image of a light brown haired woman with bright blue eyes covered with glasses filled his memory. While Lisa was ruthless when playing cards, she was the closest thing Arthur would ever have to a sister, as she and Francis both grew up with the Kirklands.

Francis brighten considerably at the mention of his younger sibling. "Elle est bien. She is exceptional actually. She is staying here for the games in a building not that far away here in the village."

"Oh, really?" Henry began, sitting up straighter in his chair. His voice becoming hopeful. "I will have to meet up with her sometime. It's been so long."

"Oui. It has been a while," Francis smiled.

Henry shifted in his seat and moved his head to look at Francis better. "And how have you been? Hopefully you've been better than Arts over here." Arthur glowered at his brother, mumbling a few obscenities under his breath. Typical Henry, making jabs at him whenever he could.

Francis took in the behavior of the two. Glancing at Arthur's rigid form from the corner of his eye, before turning his attention back to Henry. "Well considering the fact that I am surrounded by men and women as athletic and gorgeous as myself all the time, I will have to say I am more than elated." Two pairs of green eyes rolled at this. Francis chuckled but then guilty smiled. "I am sorry for interrupting you two. When Rosbif said guests, I thought maybe Elizabeta was here. I hope I haven't disturbed an important conversation."

Henry's mouth opened, but it was not his voice that tore through the air. "No, our conversation was over. Henry was actually about to leave when you knocked," Arthur flat voice echoed around the room.

The archer realised what he was doing would likely lead to him having a black eye later, but there was no way he could deal with Francis and his brother at the same time. The former furrowed his perfect brows in confusion. "Are you sure? I can come back later-"

"No Francis, Arthur is right." Henry regarded his stoic brother's face before sighing and standing up. "I was just leaving." The elder Kirkland shook Francis's hand. "It was good seeing you. We will have to catch up sometime."

Francis tried to turn this shake into a quick kiss on the cheek, but Henry easily avoided it with an eyebrow quirked in annoyance. "Indeed. I can get your number from Lapin and we will go to a small cafe I saw the other day while walking with Ludwig and Feliciano. Until then, adieu." Henry nodded and made his way to the door, Arthur following to see him out.

Arthur glared a hole into Henry's back. "Thank you for coming over," Arthur muttered, his voice monotone.

Henry snorted and opened the door, taking a step out but turning to look at his brother. His eyes started twinkling again. "Arthur, please think about what I said. Call Mum, and don't think you'll be getting out of our get-together. I already have it planned in my mind. Keep your mobile handy." Then he left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Arthur stood there for a moment staring at the wood, silently fuming.

Damn it Henry. There was no doubt in his mind that he would be forced to go. And if that conversation with just the two of them was that bad, he couldn't imagine all four of them talking about their childhood in a restaurant in London somewhere. After about five minutes of fighting, they would get banned from place. It wouldn't be the first time.

The archer turned back into his room and paused when he saw Francis lying on his bed, looking at him with a crude smile. "I am happy to see you talking to your brothers again. What did you talk about? And what is this about a meeting, and why wasn't big brother invited?" Francis smirked and propped his head on one his hands.

Arthur rubbed his temple. He was not in the mood for the Frog's teasing. "Francis," he paused. "Why are you here?"

"Now mon cher, I just wanted to see your captivating green-"

"I'm not in the mood to deal with your games. Why are you here?" Arthur crossed his arms, and bored his eyes into the Frenchman's baby blue.

Francis paused. Biting his lip he let loose a shaky breath, his blue turning to grey again. His fingers played with the sheets. It was a minute before he spoke.

"I needed to see someone who would understand. Gil wouldn't take me seriously and Toni is too busy with finals. Mon Lapin, I-I," his eyes looked down at the floor, "I lost to _Alfred_."

Francis gracefully laid all of his body on Arthur's bed. His hair falling around his head and onto his face. Arthur could barely see his right eye as his blond locks posed on his face. The Brit shifted uncomfortably before moving towards him. He debated internally on whether or not to sit on the bed or in the chair next to Francis' head. Deciding that he wouldn't sit next to the pervert on the bed even if his life was on the line, he sat down on the chair Henry had been in. His arms still crossed and soon his legs were as well.

There was a considerable pause before Arthur muttered, "Oh I know."

The one blue eye the Brit could see narrowed."You knew? And you let me suffer in silence, you brute!" The Frenchman placed a hand on his heart, making his hair fall a little off his eyes. However, a twinkle of humor was in his voice and actions.

Arthur rolled his eyes. The archer would never understand how Francis could be so dramatic even when he was supposedly upset. "Yes, yes, I'm the brute. Now what's up? I don't have all day you know. Henry took longer than expected, and I need to practice before it gets too late." Arthur shifted in the chair. His aching shoulder could protest all it wanted, but he was going to shoot today.

Francis stared at him for a while before turning away and exhaling deeply, filling the silence with the sound. He pursed his lips. "I lost Lapin. I lost my first race."

The Englishman furrowed his brows. "And? You've lost before and you'll lose again. Everyone who is an athlete has. Just because you lost your first one doesn't mean you'll lose all of them." Arthur peered at Francis perplexed. He knew all of this. Why was the Frog so upset? He could understand this feeling of failure. All too well actually. If Arthur was in his position and had lost, of course he would be a little defeated. However, he would use these new emotions to help him win. It's how he had gotten this far in the business.

So he could relate, but he had never been like Francis was now, and frankly he had never seen the Frog this crushed from a loss either.

"I know," Francis mumbled after a while, "but I have to win Arthur. I have to win against Alfred." His blue eyes came to look up into Arthur's emerald ponds. Inside them, the Brit could see a hollowed gaze, but deeper in a fierce determination was lurking. Flashing dangerously like a storm when the light caught just right, mildly subdued for now.

For some reason, the archer felt a brief wave of concern flashover him for Alfred, but he shook it off and uncrossed his arms and legs. A smirk coming up onto his lips. "And why is that Frog? Has this rivalry gone to your head? Or are you finally starting to feel your age?"

Francis took in the Brit before a smooth smile appeared, and faster than Arthur could react, he sat up and leaned towards the edge of the bed. His face coming centimeters away from the archer's. The attention of those silky blue eyes focused solely on the emerald isle green. The swimmer's long blond hair was around his face, but it seemed to go with his barely tinted cheeks.

"Perhaps the rivalry has a little, and perhaps I do feel a older. Don't you feel the same with your rival Im Yong Soo and when you see the new athletes walking by? Although, mon cher, the real reason is that I have always been a very terrible team player, and I get incredibly competitive when anything of mine is in the potential reach of others," Francis' husky voice purred into Arthur's ears. The swimmer's breaths fanning over his face smoothly.

Which was progressively getting hotter and hotter, most excellently shown by the utterly flushed complexation of the Brit. As his mind thoroughly examined the situation, his eyes grew wider than saucers in a flustered anger.

Stammering for a second, Arthur shoved the Frenchman with bruising force away from him. The man in question only laughed obnoxiously, even when he fell onto the floor with a thump. A trail of obscenities filling the air.

"You bloody wanker, tosser, pervert! Trying to molest me? Well if you try anything like that again I will run you through with my bloody arrows!" Arthur yelled in an embarrassed rage, only getting more infuriated as Francis continued to laugh. "I'm so glad you get such enjoyment from harassing me!"

Francis laughed a little longer, all the while viewing the Brit peering down at him. Whose caterpillar thick brows were furrowed over rather comically, with pout on his face as he leaned on his chair. "Oh but Rosbif! I only tease you because you make it so easy, and because your face turns a captivating red. If it gets that shade of rouge when angry, I can only fantasize on what the rest of your body does when you're aroused-"

"Stop being a pervert you, you monkey-headed, cheese eating p-pervert!" Arthur interrupted, his face only growing a more vivid red.

This sent Francis into another bout of laughter. "I see you still suck at slinging insults!" He managed to gasp out. Arthur face scrunched up in a glare and he began to kick the swimmer, who somehow avoided the assault.

The sound of Francis' laughter and Arthur's curses continued to fill the room for a few minutes before Arthur slumped back into the chair. His glare still present, and his arms crossed again. "Ugh, if you treated Matthew like this at all, I will kick you arse," he muttered to himself.

Francis' laughter died down, and he stood up and sat back down on the bed almost immediately at the name. The twinkle of humor was still in his eyes, but he now seemed more intrigued. "Matthieu? You have spoken with him today? How is he doing?"

Arthur's eyes narrowed in suspicion at the sudden curiosity. "He came by earlier before he left to watch the race. He's fine," he paused. "Why? Did you harass him at dinner last night?!" His voice grew. "Because he is a sweet boy and don't you dare corrupt him-"

"Non, non Rosbif, I didn't harass him as you say. We simply talked and had a lovely dinner. Which was unexpected for the both of us considering that someone _else_ was supposed to have joined me, but instead sent Matthieu in his place. All the while not telling me about the change." Francis quirked an eyebrow at Arthur, who rubbed the side of his face. His cheeks turning pink. Stupid Francis and his stupid five-star dinner. Arthur didn't feel guilty at all, no. It was the snail-eater's fault after all.

"Well you can't blame this all on me, you know. You forced me into the dinner like the Frog you are, and I had to practice. But since I am a gentleman, I sent someone to eat with you so it wouldn't be rude. So there!" Arthur childishly stuck out his tongue and pouted in the chair.

"I didn't force you, and a gentleman? You didn't even give a call-" Francis started but stopped. Thinking for moment before shaking his head. Picking his battles, he decided to let this pointless conversation drop and move on. "Anyway, although it was entirely your fault, I must say merci."

Arthur looked up in confusion. "What are you thanking me for?"

"Because," Francis' eyes clouded over, "without you being a so called 'gentleman' I never would have met such a captivating young man."

The Brit stared blankly at the man in front of him for a moment. Then an annoyed glare crossed his features. "No. Francis he is a sweet, innocent boy who needs to stay away from a pervert like you. Not to mention he is your rival's twin brother."

Francis looked at the floor before turning his attention back to Arthur. His hair moving slightly as he did so. He thought incredibly deeply for a moment before raising a perfectly trimmed eyebrow. "Why are you giving me a warning Lapin? I haven't forced anything onto him. Yes I will admit that he is handsome with his wavy hair, and his adorable French accent, but I have not made a pass at him. Could it be that you are jealous of my affections possibly being elsewhere?"

"No, of course not," Arthur muttered, his cheeks reddening. He clutched his arms tighter and looked at the end table. He took a shaky breath. He didn't feel like opening this information up to the Frog, but Francis steady gaze made him feel obligated to say something. He didn't want the swimmer to hurt Matthew.

"Listen. I'm giving you a warning because believe it or not he is important to me," Arthur's voice was almost a whisper. "He is the only one who helped me after Rio. _The only one._ Not even you remember?" Arthur glanced at him from the corner of his eyes, but found that Francis was avoiding eye contact. Irritated, he continued.

"He helped get me back out here, and I know I must've been such a burden. I don't know how I will ever repay him. But I know how you are sometimes with people you find 'handsome,' especially during the games." The two made eye-contact.

"Don't you dare hurt Matthew. If you do, it won't be just Alfred coming after you." Arthur growled and rolled his shoulders. Ignoring the pain as he did so.

Francis closed his eyes before opening them slowly, turning his body to face the Brit. "Arthur, I never realized that he was the only one that helped you. Had I known, I would have done something. Just because I didn't side with you-"

"Whatever. It doesn't matter now. It's in the past. You didn't help me and that's it. Don't try to make yourself feel better. This conversation is not about Rio," Arthur barked. His tone was deadly, and Francis understood the warning. He shook his head though.

"I know it isn't, but we do need to talk about it sometime."

"No we will not. Not until I redeem myself, because apparently one fight can cause you to become the laughing-stock of the entire community and make everyone forget your achievements. I wouldn't want to talk about it with _you_ anyway. You only fueled the fire," Arthur turned a stony gaze to Francis, who only stared quietly back.

His blue eyes showcasing deep hurt. "I had my reasons," he whispered. Scanning Arthur's now guarded body, Francis shifted. "But anyway, I wouldn't dream on hurting Matthieu. I was actually considering on asking him on a date."

Arthur's stone gaze remained set, but an eyebrow rose in intrique. This was interesting. Francis hadn't really dated anyone for a while since he was busy training all time. That was the case for many of the athletes, Arthur included. They were just simply too busy to date. The Brit wondered how they would even managed to work that out if they did start dating. Matthew was a professional hockey player and Francis a swimmer, the odds of them actually having a steady relationship were slim in Arthur's opinion. Not to mention Matthew's crush on Kat-

The archer's eyes widened. Oh how could he forget that? Looking at Francis, he had a mental battle with himself. Should he tell Francis this? He didn't even know if the Canadian was bisexual. He looked over at Francis' hopeful blue eyes, and although the Brit was still mad at him, he couldn't find it in him to tell the Frenchman. He could find it out for himself, Arthur thought. It would be better for him.

The archer shifted a little in his chair. "Just don't be a pervert."

Francis smiled. "I try not to be. Only to you, mon cher." He winked, and Arthur rolled his eyes. Seeing this brought a light chuckle to the swimmer.

A comfortable pause settled in the room between the two. Both men simply enjoying the quiet before they had to return to the constant chatter of the Olympic community and the media. For Arthur it was second to gather his feelings and thoughts. It had been a rough day, especially with the unexpected visit from his brother. Because although he practiced alone, it was rarely quiet when he shot, and the rarity of the peaceful silence made him feel tranquil.

It was a few minutes later when Arthur watched Francis pull out his mobile to check the time. Breathing deeply, Francis got up and stretched. "I believe it is time for me to go. Not only do you have to practice, but I do as well," Francis looked down at him. Arthur glanced back quizzically.

"Do you have an event tomorrow?"

Francis nodded. "Oui, my trainer is having a fit that I'm not in the pool already." Francis began walking towards the door, when he suddenly stopped. He turned to look at the Brit, a knowing smirk on his face. "You can come watch me tomorrow instead of watching it on television. I can get you tickets."

Arthur stared at him, cheeks reddening. "What makes you think I watched you on the telly? Matthew told me the results."

Francis quirked an eyebrow and gave a small chuckle. Grabbing the door handle, he opened it slightly. "Ohonhon, cher you're off your game. You told me earlier that Matthew came to see you before the race. But yet somehow you already knew the results. I know you didn't see them online because you were with Henry, and you two never talk about swimming. I simply connected the dots." He opened the door more and took a step out. Arthur began to stamper as Francis leaned his face on the door. "But you can come watch the beautiful moi in person, just text me and I'll get you tickets. I'd be more than happy to. Merci for lifting my spirits Lapin. It means a lot."

Arthur stopped his protests. Staring at Francis' sincere smile, he gave a small one himself. "Whatever Frog," he muttered lightheartedly.

Francis laughed. "Adieu, mon cher!" Then he stepped out into the hall, shutting the door behind him.

Leaving Arthur all alone.

The Brit sighed. Why did he let the Frog in again? He slowly unraveled himself from the chair to gather his supplies to go to the range. As much as he hated to admit it- and as much as his shoulder complained -he needed to go practice. Making sure everything was in order and grabbing his mobile, he leaves the room and walks down to the lift.

Arthur took a deep breath and rubbed his hands over his face. There was only one other person in the lift and he didn't know them. They must of been a new-comer. The doors opened up and he strolled out to get to the range. It was a bit of a walk, but eventually after going through different parts of the village, he was there shooting arrow after arrow.

It was a perfect session. The wind was great, his technique was flawless even with his shoulder, but his mind was somewhere else. He knew why he let Francis in. Because, as much as he hated to admit it, Francis was one of his closest friends. They had known each other since they were children, and although he had helped caused some of the torture his brothers forced on him, he also was the one to help him sometimes.

Which is why when he had shown up at his door looking like _exactly_ like he did the day of the boating accident, he would have never said no.

Then so much had happened throughout the day, he couldn't focus at all. The race, Matthew's visit, Henry, Francis, Francis _and_ Matthew, and lastly the image of Alfred. The American teen smiling after winning, his face flushed with water dripping down his face. His electric blue eyes shining with absolute happiness.

" _...Al would_ love _it if you watched."_

Arthur jumped when he let go of the arrow. Gazing up, he saw it just below the bulls-eye. His trainer was staring at him quizzically. Groaning he rubbed his temple, feeling a headache coming on.

He needed a drink.

* * *

 **A.N- Well, Happy New Year everyone! Here is the latest chapter and I hope you will enjoy it! I hope it doesn't feel too rushed or confusing.**

 **How do you guys feel about Henry (Wales)? I wanted to include Arthur's family somewhere in this, because in some fics the families are nonexistent.**

 **Also, Lisa is Monaco. I couldn't find a name for her so I made one up.**

 **I know we didn't see Alfred this chapter (well on the tv we did but that's different) but don't worry, he will be back. Also, I know Canada might seem a little off character wise, but for how the story goes, it makes more sense for him to be a bit more headstrong (that and the idea of quiet, shy Matthew punching Arthur amuses me).**

 **Thank you for reading! Please leave a review, and I will see you on the next update. :)**

 **-ShakespearesRhapsody**


	7. Chapter Six: An Unexpected Proposal

_**I do not own anything.**_

* * *

The wind was whipping around Arthur as he and Elizabeta walked around the Olympic center of Tokyo.

They had been out there for over an hour simply talking about various matters. None of the conversations had been in depth, and to be honest, Arthur forgot about them not even five minutes after they occurred. This was because Elizabeta wasn't really participating, and it was beginning to irk him. She had been the one to _invite_ him out, and for some forsaken reason he accepted. Now she was almost completely ignoring him for her phone.

Finally, after asking her a question five times with only an 'uh huh' in response, he snapped. Arthur stopped in his tracks. "What the hell is going on that has got you so interested?"

She stopped and looked up from her mobile. A glare was rapidly forming on her face. "Don't you take that tone with me. What on Earth is wrong with you, Brows?"

Arthur pushed some hair back. "Excuse me for getting irritated at someone who has been ignoring me for the past bloody hour!" Elizabeta looked guilty at this. "And let me ask again like I have had to do for a thousand times today, what has got you so interested?"

Elizabeta rolled her eyes. "Typical of you to not know about anything going on besides your events. I'm sorry for ignoring you, but one of the swimming races is on. I wanted to see what happened since Francis looked ready to murder after losing the last one."

"I know things! I just don't make it a point to keep up with grown men splashing around in an oversized bath," he said, and they both began walking again.

The area they were walking in was beautiful. Currently, they were on a cobbled pathway with trees and flowers on each side. Naturally, there was seating and rubbage bins every few kilometers, which were designed in such a way to make the area feel modern but at the same time rustic. They had walked here from the village and had not come off the trail. Neither knew where it went, at least, Arthur thought that Eliza didn't know either. Although, he wouldn't put it past her to secretly drag him somewhere.

Before meeting up with Elizabeta, he had had a productive morning. He had gotten up, gotten dressed, ate a light breakfast, and then he had gotten to practice for a few hours with hardly anyone there. It had been tranquil, if not boring. Although Arthur should have felt amazing at the session, he felt… off.

He could not put his finger on where the exact problem was, but he could certainly point in a direction. One thing that had been bothering him was Francis. Their conversation had been replaying over and over in his mind. It had been a long time since he had seen him like that, and frankly it bothered him. While he hated the Frog, he didn't like to see him that… lifeless. He didn't want to think about the situation with Matthew. That was a problem that would have to be dealt with after his events. Then Francis' eyes when he spoke about Alfred… Arthur felt a shudder go through him. He certainly hoped that Francis was only being melodramatic. Although, this caused another problem. He couldn't stop thinking about Alfred. Not because he cared about the boy, no. It was only because of Francis.

Combine all of this with his brothers' never-ending text messages, the still negative media reports, and his rapidly approaching events, a drink never sounded so good.

Perhaps spending time with Elizabeta wasn't that bad. It would distract him at least. Speaking of distractions. Arthur looked over at the fencer next to him. Although she was engrossed in the event, he could tell something was bothering her. Her eyes would cloud over as she looked at the screen and distance themselves. Not even the commenter's excited chatter over Francis and Alfred, that Arthur could clearly hear… not that he cared, seemed to catch her interest.

Arthur watched a huge gush of wind whip her hair back. His face became flustered as he spoke. "Elizabeta?" She looked over at him. "Is something bothering you?"

She frowned before a fake smile emerged. "No, of course not. Why would you think- "

"Oh, knock it off. I know I'm shite at reading other people's emotions, but something is wrong. You didn't even react when the announcer's talked about Alfred's and Francis' tense history with each other." He crossed his arms, and his brows narrowed down.

Her eyes flared, and she opened her mouth to deny the accusation, but one glare from him and she closed it. After a few minutes of walking in silence, she sighed and put her mobile away. Her voice was tight. "Fine." She rubbed the side of her head. "I am on the verge of breaking a record, and I have already won a few medals for my country. But every time I turn on the news or look at an article, none of them focus on that. Everything I see has something to do with Roderich, no matter how hard I try or what I do. It's just frustrating to only have people remember you for something not even related to your career—Why are you staring at me like that?"

It took all the Brit's self-control not to lose his mind on his friend. A murderous glare formed, and he could feel the muscles around his mouth form into a deep scowl. He couldn't help his jaw clenching. The nerve. He had to suffer through the Rio fiasco alone without her batting an eye, and now she wants to complain? The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. He did sympathize with her though. Her divorce to Roderich had happened this past winter, and the press had a field day with it. A new report came out each week with why the married couple broke up, and none of them were kind to either party involved. The real answer was simple: time. Elizabeta was an Olympic fencer and was always training or going to help younger fencers in Hungary. Roderich was a world-famous composer and pianist. Anytime he wasn't with the Vienna orchestra, he was writing music.

They just didn't have time for each other, and so both agreed to divorce. Although, it was obvious they still loved each other. Thus, making the process even harder on both. He wasn't a part of the fallout- being a drunkard can cause you to lose touch with friends- but when he did get sober and listened to the reports, he had called and listened to her for over an hour. He truly did feel awful for her.

But he was more pissed than anything right now. "Oh no, do go on. I couldn't possibly understand what you are going through. Please explain, in detail, how horrible it is to have no one recognize your achievements and instead focus on personal details," he spoke with his arms firmly crossed. Elizabeta's brows furrowed, and Arthur could see a crease forming in between them.

"I think my divorce is a greater issue than your denial over Alfred," her voice was cold. "I said I was sorry over not supporting you, and I understand it all a bit better now, but there is no need for you to be an absolute jerk about it." Both of their strides became more ferocious as they walked. The steps slowly morphing into stomps.

His chest constricted when she mentioned the American, but this little wave of emotion only helped fuel the fire. "The debate on what is a greater issue depends on the beholder." Elizabeta bit her lip to keep herself from murdering him. "But it's aggravating to have those _exact_ feelings for years and not have you give one ounce of sympathy when suddenly you are in the same situation and expect me to."

The stare down that happened after his words filled the air could have frozen the Sahara. They had stopped walking and were now standing outside a building that the pathway had connected to. Had Arthur looked around he would have found it rather pretty. It had a few trees, but it still held that modern, city feel. It also looked familiar, like he had seen it somewhere before. However, all of this was of trivial importance now. All he cared about was his anger. Although Elizabeta was a dear friend and had helped him a little, she _did_ side with Alfred and left him to his own downfall after Rio.

He was having a hard time feeling pity for her.

"Arthur, you do realize that Rio was your-" Her voice was suddenly cut off by a large crowd of people pouring out of the building and cutting themselves right in between the archer and fencer.

The Brit took a step back as more and more people filed out. Bloody hell, where did all these people come from? He gazed around the sea of faces and quickly found Elizabeta standing by a door to the side. Moving through the crowd muttering several apologies and a few shoves to those oblivious to him- he hated crowds -he managed to make it back to her.

She looked at him and pushed open the door. "Let's get inside until everyone leaves." He rolled his eyes but followed.

"Oh yes, let's go into the same building that the crowd is coming from. Why didn't I think of that!" Elizabeta frowned and shut the door behind them. Although she didn't say anything out loud, he could have sworn he heard 'smartass.'

Once they were inside, it became apparent that the door they had entered through was a side door. The area they were in was full of lighting equipment, and the floors were a plain grey. "Where are we?" Elizabeta muttered before looking out the window of the door. The crowd was still sizeable.

Arthur frowned. "I don't know, but it looks like there might be a door down this hall." His eyes scanned a plain hallway and the door at the end of it. The area looked like the behind-the-scenes pathways in studios he had seen before. Hopefully, on the other side of the door there would be a lobby with seats.

He looked over to see her cross her arms. "Well I suppose we can see what is on the other side," she huffed, and he resisted the urge to scowl.

They both walked down the hall with no words exchanged. As they neared the door, Arthur realized that a distinct smell was coming from it. It wasn't a terrible smell by any means, in fact, some would consider it to be pleasant. It was very particular, but he couldn't place it. Looking over at Elizabeta she seemed to be having the same thought.

Opening the door and stepping out, they found themselves in a little lobby to what he instantly recognized as locker rooms. They weren't in them, but he could clearly make out the entrances across the hall from them and the voices coming from there. The lobby was nice, all things considered. It had white walls with an orange glow coming over them, and the décor was minimal but stylish. But what struck Arthur odd was the floors. They were like those in the hallway: plain and dull. He was beginning to wonder why they wouldn't put more effort into them until he looked to his right.

The origin of the smell and why there was such a huge crowd was put together. Staring outside of the area, he could see an Olympic sized pool. The waters of which had calmed and were still. From what he could see in the stands, there were a few stragglers gathering their things.

Fuck. This was the aquatic center, and from Arthur's best guess they were currently in the lobby just outside the viewing area. This is where the swimmers came out when being announced.

"Elizabeta, we need to go back," he whispered in order to limit the odds of the swimmers hearing him. They weren't supposed to be here, and if they got caught they would get into deep shit. He didn't know what the Olympic Committee would do about it, but he did not want to find out. He could not risk not getting to compete. His heart was pounding in dread at the idea. That and the thought had occurred to him that if anyone found out he had been here it could lead to a scandal. He could see the headlines: ' _Archer Arthur Kirkland Still Not Over Swimmer Hot Throb Alfred Jones! Sneaks in to See Him in His Locker Room!'_ He had worked too hard to distance himself from the Yank to throw it away now.

Arthur shook his head and rubbed his hands. They had to go. However, as he turned to look back at the fencer he was horrified to see her walking around. "Elizabeta!" He whispered fiercely.

She turned around with a smile on her face with her mobile in her hands. She was at the edge of the lobby and was taking pictures of the pool. "Brows! Look how amazing this is! I knew they were huge, but the T.V. makes them so much smaller."

"Elizabeta, are you crazy? Keep your voice down, or they will hear you! And stop taking pictures on your mobile!" He came to stand beside her and watched her take a photo of just about everything in the arena.

She rolled her eyes. "Quit your worrying. We will leave in a second. I'm enjoying myself, which is something you have forgotten to do," she said, and her tone brought back some of Arthur's earlier annoyance.

"I know how to enjoy myself! I am being cautious, because I don't want the IOC to send me back to London! Have you given any thought to that? Each picture is evidence against us," he spoke and pointed to her mobile.

"The IOC is not going to kick us out, because we took a wrong turn!" She moved her phone out of his sight.

His tone became deadly. "You don't know that! I can't go back yet, Elizabeta!"

"Arthur, you need to let go. You can't be happy if you are constantly trying to right the past-!"

"YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO TELL ME ABOUT MY OWN HAPPINESS!" They stood glaring at each other and let the sound of the water fill the air. Green bore into green. He let out a breath. He didn't mean to yell at her, but their fight earlier and his anxiety over being here took its' toll. Which, unfortunately, made his short fuse more like an already lit match.

After realizing his mistake, his glare lessened and so did hers. In fact, Arthur could have sworn a new emotion took over her features: regret, maybe? He didn't have time to think about it, as he was too busy swallowing his tongue to apologize. However, before either of them could speak, a voice cut through the air that made both of their bodies go taunt, and their eyes wide.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing in here!" The voice echoed through the lobby and into the center. It was obvious that the owner of the voice was a swimmer since the origin came from the locker room.

For a moment, Arthur considered running back through the hallway. He and Elizabeta stood facing each other and were having a panicked conversation with their eyes. _"Do we run?"_ She seemed to say.

 _"I don't know. I think that will only get us into more trouble."_ The image of Heathrow Airport was beginning to dance in his mind, as he was sent home. The more it played the more his stomach churned, and he knew it would be his fault too. If he hadn't yelled at her…

"Listen, if you don't turn and give me a good reason to why you all are here, I'm going to call bloody security!" The voice said. Wait a tick… _bloody_ security?

Arthur replayed the sentence over in his head again and felt like an idiot for not recognizing the voice sooner. He slowly turned his head to meet hazel-green eyes. "Jett?"

The Aussie was standing just at the entrance to the locker rooms and was wearing athletic clothes bearing his team's logo. Arthur dully noted that his hair was wet, but he suspected that it was less likely to be from the pool and more from a shower. Once the swimmer's eyes scanned him up and down in recognition, his serious expression melted into his signature grin. "Oh, Eyebrows it's you! I thought you might have been a crazed fan or something. What are you doing down here, mate?"

Considering the position he was in, Arthur decided to let the eyebrow comment slide. "Oh, Elizabeta and I just made a wrong turn. We didn't mean to wonder in here, and we will be on our way very quickly, right Elizabeta?" He said nervously before giving a sideways glance to the Hungarian.

"Yes, we just got lost. We will be on our way with no need for security, if you don't mind," her lightly accented voice spoke through the air.

The Brit really hoped that the swimmer would believe this, and that he might consider him a friend long enough to let them leave. However, he noticed that the minute the teen took in Elizabeta's presence his tanned face flushed scarlet, and he began rubbing the back of his neck. Arthur's eyes narrowed. If he didn't know any better, he would almost say that Jett fancied Elizabeta.

"Um, sure. It's not a big issue. I got lost the first time I was in here, too!" He laughed, but his eyes kept darting back to the fencer. "Like I said earlier, we were worried that a fan or something got in again."

Elizabeta just smiled at him- which he returned with a blush -and Arthur clapped his hands together. "Fantastic. You have been such an understanding bloke, and we thank you heartily," he spoke before he paused. 'We were worried,' he had said, ' _We_ were worried.' His heart sank in his chest. Who else was in the locker room? It could be the entire swimming community for all he knew, and they had heard him yell! Oh bollocks, bollocks, bollocks! "Jett?" The teen looked at him. "Who is the we?"

"Oh, just me and Al." Arthur wanted to throw a brick into a wall." Some of the others have already left or had press conferences to go to. I guess now that there is no fan, hey Al!" The swimmer turned to yell back into the rooms, and Arthur felt his hands begin to sweat.

He let out an awkward laugh. "Oh no, that won't be necessary," he tugged on Elizabeta's arm, "we're leaving-"

"But we must at least say 'hi,' right Brows?" Elizabeta pulled her arm out from his grasp and gave him a knowing look.

The minute they were alone again, Arthur would give the fencer a strong lecture on supporting friends.

He could only give a brief glare, before they both turned to the sound of bare feet hitting the floor. Alfred poked his head out from the rooms and looked at his fellow swimmer. "Is the coast clear-? Artie!" The archer didn't even have time to react before he was enveloped in a hug. Luckily, this time the teen let go quickly, and he was met with the cheerful, yet tired gaze of the American. "I wasn't expecting you! Not that I mean that in a bad way, you're way better than a fan trying to take pictures of us nude…again, but I'm so happy to see you! How did you get here?"

The sweat on his hands was cold, and he felt the overwhelming need to rub them on his trousers.

Arthur was still tense from the hug and crossed his arms in a first line of defense. He was older and needed to take charge. "Alfred, it's Arthur. And we just made a wrong turn, we will be leaving now," he said and took a step toward the door. That was, until he felt a hard grip wrap around his forearm.

"Where are you going, Arthur?" Elizabeta spoke with fake sweetness. "It would be ungentlemanly to leave so soon, especially after seeing you, Alfred. How are you doing?"

Elizabeta dragged him back next to her, and they both sent daggers made of fire to each other, until she turned to the swimmers with a faint smile. Arthur could only muster his usual frown. Jett seemed to pick up on this as he stared confused between the two, but Alfred was as oblivious as always.

"I'm great, dude! I haven't seen you in a while, although I don't doubt you aren't killing it in fencing," he stated warmly.

A genuine smile graced her features. "I wouldn't say that in front of the other competitors, but it's not far from the truth. I have no plans for losing," the two swimmers chuckled at this. "But enough about me, you two had a race just a bit ago, right?" The two nodded, but their bodies visibly tensed. "How did that go?"

Jett paused, before he spoke. "It went okay I guess. I got third, and Al got second. It was a great race overall."

Arthur's eyes widened. Alfred lost the race? Elizabeta appeared to be just as surprised, and he couldn't help the words that blurted from his mouth. "You lost? To whom?"

"Umm." Alfred rubbed his neck and averted his eyes. Arthur noticed that the bags under them had become darker. "Francis won. Which is great, I'm happy for him," however, the tone of his voice suggested the opposite.

The Brit couldn't believe it. Francis won. Francis beat Alfred. Honestly, it should not have surprised him as much as it did. The Frog's strange storm in his eyes flashed in his mind from the previous night. The Frenchman was out for blood and was not about to let Alfred slide past him a second time.

He wanted to be happy about it. His mind screamed at him to gloat, because after all that's how the game goes. You win some, and you lose more. Not to mention the git deserved it after all he had put him through. However, the more he took in the deflated teen's face the more he felt a hand grip his heart.

Everyone nodded, but it was more out of acknowledgement than agreement. "Well lads," he began, "you can't win every race."

"Yeah, but you tried your best and that's all that matters." Elizabeta smiled warmly at them. She even managed a smile for Arthur, which made him a little bit better on the inside. That feeling ended with the next words that came from her mug. "Jett-" the teen's head popped up "-which lane over there did you swim in? I don't quite remember. Would you show it to me?"

"Absolutely!" The Australian began walking away with Elizabeta back to the pool enthusiastically, maybe a tad too enthusiastically. Once they were a fair distance away, he heard them talking about swimming or some nonsense.

Frankly, Arthur was too busy shoving down the awkward feeling in his throat to care about their conversation.

The minute the other two left, the atmosphere suddenly became quiet and very, very uncomfortable for the Brit. He hadn't had a private conversation with the lad since Rio. Would they bring it up now? He sure as hell wouldn't and judging by the swimmer's body language he wouldn't either.

"So…" Alfred spoke slowly, "How have you been?"

"Fine." His answer was curt, and his body was tense. "Yourself?"

"I could be better. I am really bummed about losing though," he muttered.

A flicker of annoyance passed through him. Not the kind that could be traced back to a specific reason, but the kind that just happened when you wanted to be angry. "You're a big boy. You can toughen through a loss. Just do better next time. Champions aren't born champions, you know." There was a brief pause after he said this, and Arthur looked over at Alfred. The American had an interesting look on his face. Surprise would be too strong of a word, but before he could place it, the teen let out a chuckle.

"You haven't changed at all have you, Artie?" A thick brow rose in response.

"What do you mean? And if you call me Artie one more time I'm throwing you in that bloody pool."

"Hahahaha, I'd like to see you try, old man. Not to mention I like the water remember? I'm not like _somebody_ who can't swim."

The Brit's hands moved from being crossed to being planted firmly on his hips. That cheeky buffoon! "I can throw you in that damned pool just fine, and I never said I couldn't swim. I just…prefer not to."

"Uh-huh, so you wouldn't mind if I threw you in right now-?" He had grabbed Arthur's hand and had begun dragging him toward the pool.

Arthur felt his face grow warm from the contact, and the skin where the hand touched tingled. But his mind passed over this issue as his feet planted themselves firmly to the ground, and he fought against Alfred's tugs. "NO! No, don't you dare, Jones! So help me, I will curse you and your family for generations to come!" His threat was only met with unapologetic laughter.

They continued this for what seemed like forever to Arthur, but what was only a few minutes. Alfred tugged and laughed like a maniac, and Arthur barely kept himself from flying forward while sending out so many swear words that it made sailors look like saints. Eventually, Alfred let go, and Arthur barely caught himself from falling on his arse.

"Git," he yelled and rolled his eyes at the laughter that followed. Directing his thoughts back to the conversation, he spoke. "What did you mean earlier?"

Alfred's laugh faded into a nostalgic smile. "You used to say the exact same thing to me back when I first started competing. It didn't even matter if I won, you would always say 'champions aren't born champions." He rubbed his arm. "Do you not remember?"

Oh, he remembered. He remembered it clearly. The image of a boy with wide, blue-eyes clinging to every word he could utter flashed in his mind. His heart swirled in a tangle of rage and longing. He turned his gaze away from him and onto the floor nearby. His voice lost all trace of the friendliness it had previously. "No. I don't remember any such conversation."

Arthur couldn't see his face, but he saw movement in the corner of his eye as Alfred tried to reach for him. "Artie-?"

"Elizabeta!" He moved away from the hand and toward the pool. He paused once he saw her and Jett sitting on the edge in a pleasant conversation. "Come on, we are leaving. _Now._ " He didn't check to make sure she was coming as he turned on his heels and headed directly for the door they'd come through earlier. Some of the hurt was returning, and if he stayed any longer he would dissolve into a pit of bitter memories. He was not going to allow Alfred another victory over him.

Speaking of which, the swimmer still stood where Arthur had left him. He did nothing but follow the Englishmen with his eyes. However, as Arthur opened the door and began to step out, a firm hand was on his shoulder.

Arthur whipped around and threw the hand off. "Don't touch me."

The Yank retracted his hand, almost as if Arthur had thrown acid on it, and used it to scratch his ear instead. "Sorry, I just wanted to ask you something before you leave."

Arthur looked up at the taller athlete with a practiced glare, before they looked over as Jett and Elizabeta made their return. Both looked equally confused but said nothing.

He turned back to the teen. "It better be quick."

Alfred nodded, and he looked like he was about to speak before shutting his mouth and pushing his glasses back up his nose. "I, um," he seemed to think a moment before repeating his earlier actions.

Arthur rolled his eyes. He was in no mood to deal with Alfred's stupidity, or whatever antic he was planning on asking. "Not quick enough. Let's go Elizabeta." He commanded her, and although she would normally argue, she quietly went through the door he held open. As he went to follow, Alfred found his words.

"Wait! It's important."

Arthur glanced back. "I'm done waiting Alfred. Whatever it is, it's obviously not as important as you think, as you appear to be tongue-tied-"

"Will you go out with me tonight?"

The question brought him to a halt. It apparently did the same to Elizabeta, who stopped in front of him causing him to run into her. They both turned back and looked at him. Even Jett eyed his fellow swimmer in disbelief. After a tense silence, Elizabeta nudged his shoulder to say something. But what could he say? It had to be a trick, it just had to be. "I beg your pardon?"

Alfred shifted, and seemed less confident with the stares peering into him. "Um, I was hoping you could go out with me tonight somewhere." Arthur could hear his heartbeat in his ears like a roaring hurricane. "Not… Not like on a _date_ or anything. Just to get together and get something to eat and catch up, because we haven't really done that yet, so…" His voice trailed off.

He couldn't believe it. Alfred was asking him out. He didn't know what to think. It was unexpected, that was for sure, and it was the last thing Arthur predicted the boy to ask. Which also made him unsure on how to respond. The more he thought the more he forgot why he had been angry. It all had disappeared in a flash. Should he say yes? He could easily say no. They both had events to get ready for, after all. But… He looked up at Alfred and blushed. Fairies danced in his stomach.

Elizabeta nudged him in the back to hurry. His mouth was dry. "Uh… I suppose it wouldn't be unreasonable…"

"Awesome, dude!" It was if the insecure Alfred that was present a second ago never existed. The American's eyes were alight. "We will meet just outside the village and call an _Uber_ or something to go eat at-" he checked his phone – "seven. Is that cool with you?"

Arthur blinked a few times and nodded. "That…That's fine. I suppose I will see you then."

Alfred smiled. "Sure thing, dude! See you then!"

The Englishman only nodded numbly and walked out the door behind Elizabeta. He barely even saw the waves from the two swimmers as it shut. His mind remained blank until they reached the exit and walked outside. The crowds had significantly dwindled, but some hung around. The fresh air hit his face and breathed new life into him.

It also helped breathe a sense of reality into him.

He turned to face Elizabeta, his eyes widening, but it was nothing compared to the twinkle in hers. "OH BROWS, I DON'T BELIEVE IT! YOU HAVE A DATE WITH ALFRE-mmfph!"

"Shhhh, Elizabeta are you insane?" His hands were clamped firmly over her mouth, and his eyes scanned warily over the intrigued crowd. "First of all, it's not a date. Second, we are next to a group of people who have an unhealthy interest in the swimmer's- most specifically Alfred's -lives, and you are over here gabbing about it. I'd rather not have this leak to the media," he whispered sharply.

She pushed his hands off her mouth and rolled her eyes. "Fine, but don't think we're not talking about this." They looked at the crowd. A few were glancing over. Arthur couldn't help but feel like their gazes lingered longer on him. If they stayed any longer they would recognize him. He averted his eyes and fought against the rising heat in his cheeks. She sighed and began walking with him in the opposite direction. "Come on. Let's go back to your building where we can talk some more."

Arthur agreed, and they walked back in silence. A few conversations were stirred up, but both were more focused on the newest development. His mind would not stop replaying the interaction repeatedly. Each time it played through, a sense of dread overcame him. What had he been thinking? If this gets to the community, or worse the media, his chance of redemption would be over. He couldn't let that happen, he wouldn't.

Which is why after arriving back to his room, the words bubbled out without a second thought. "I'm not going," he grabbed his mobile, "I'm texting Alfred now to-"

"Oh no you are not." She took it from his hands and walked further into the room, and his glare followed her all the way. "This will be good for you and- Luddy! I didn't even see you!" She exclaimed, and Arthur followed her line of sight.

He was surprised to see Ludwig being smothered in a hug by the Hungarian. The poor man's face was completely pink from the sudden contact. He hadn't expected the German to be here, as he was always either training or with the Italian fencer Feliciano Vargas. Then again, he wouldn't know if Ludwig came back to the room during the day. Arthur basically lived on the archery range. "It's good to see you too, Elizabeta. Arthur." He nodded toward him.

"Likewise, Ludwig." He acknowledged and crossed his arms. "It's been a while since we got to talk."

"Yes, it has. How is training?" He asked politely.

"Fine, but I don't feel like I'm doing enough to win," he muttered, and his mind skated to Alfred. "And you?"

Ludwig shrugged. "I feel similarly. I wish I could get more practice in, but Feli always wants me to eat pasta with him…" His voice trailed off as he thought about the Italian, but quickly enough his attention was back on them. "Do I need to leave to let you two talk?"

"Oh no, you're fine." Elizabeta sat up. "You might be able to help actually. See, Arthur here has a date he is trying to get out of-"

"It's not a date!" He cried out and scratched the side of his head. "It's…an outing between acquaintances."

They both stared at him. Elizabeta rolled her eyes. "Whatever you want to call it, you are still going out with Alfred this afternoon." He rolled his eyes, as he walked over and sat on his bed. Like hell he was going.

Ludwig rose an eyebrow at him, and his blue eyes pierced his side. "You are on better terms with Alfred? I thought that you two weren't talking?" He opened his mouth, but a different one took his words from him.

"They weren't, but now we have an opportunity to fix a few problems. To right a wrong, and to let Brows move on with his life."

Elizabeta stood in front of him with her arms crossed, and her signature 'this is happening whether you want to or not' look on her face. Seeing that only made him annoyed. He was the final say after all, not her. But it wasn't until he was staring up at her for several tense seconds- with poor Ludwig observing in the corner -that he realized that she wasn't doing this just for him.

He clenched his jaw. "Listen, Elizabeta. There are no wrongs I need to fix. But you are not going to use this situation to try and fix the fact that you abandoned me to make yourself feel better."

She bit her lip and was silent, but her stance didn't waver. Neither did their glares that suffocated the room in hostility. The only sounds he could hear was the air conditioning pulsating throughout the room and his breathing. He wondered why they were friends. They had been fighting all day. Honestly, it was a small miracle that they both hadn't been reduced to an actual fight.

Luckily for both, Ludwig was still there. "I don't know exactly what has happened, but I'm ending it now." The German stood up and placed himself between the two. Arthur was smug as he chided Elizabeta. "Eliza, you can't take control over Arthur's life. Even if you think it will be for the better," he scolded, and she only crossed her arms.

Then he turned around to Arthur, and the archer's attitude instantly changed. Had Ludwig always been this tall? While eyeing the younger man, he caught sight of Elizabeta. The twinkle in her eyes, and the way her hip stuck out said it all. He was in a foul mood again. "And Arthur," he looked up at Ludwig with a pout. "You are going out with Alfred tonight." His mouth popped open in outrage, and he stood up. His irritation rose when he realized that he only came up to the German's nose.

"What?! You can't be serious! What happened to 'you can't take control over Arthur's life?'" He roared.

Ludwig crossed his arms. "I agree that Elizabeta can't take over your life. But you did agree to go with Alfred, and it would be irresponsible of you not to go now. Not to mention, I think it would do you some good to get out and be civil toward each other."

The Brit ran his fingers through his hair a few times in frustration. Elizabeta had her hands hiding her mouth where a smile was no doubt to be. "We are civil enough to each other. In fact, I might be too civil to that buffoon. And it won't be irresponsible if I inform him of the change now, if someone would give me my mobile!" He hollered the last bit at the Hungarian.

"I will… after we get you ready for tonight." She smiled and just like that began to go through his clothes.

He felt a vein pop out in his forehead. "What are you-? Get out of my clothes!"

However, she ignored him and continued her mission. Bloody hell, did that woman not know what the word privacy meant? The archer grabbed a lock of his hair and looked up to see Ludwig's attentive gaze still on him. "What Ludwig?"

The teen sighed. "Arthur, you do realize that you are an athlete I admired growing up, because you always seemed to be so responsible and gentlemanly no matter what was in the news. I would hate to see you prove me wrong," his voice was sincere, and he walked over to where Elizabeta was and began to help her.

For a moment, the Englishman just stood there. His face was still tense, but his arms were loosely crossed, and there was no real anger still there. He stared at the plain wall above Ludwig's bed. The teen used to look up to him? Even though his own brother was an athlete too? Although, it was Gilbert, and there was not much to be proud of, but still. He didn't think there was anyone who still liked him left in the community, let alone looked up to him. Could he really throw that away just to get back at Alfred? He sighed. Ludwig was right, it was ungentlemanly. It was just for one night too. He could suck it up for a few hours. Just forget his entire past with the American and try not to think.

What could go wrong?

He rubbed his face and begrudgingly made his way over to the two. They both looked quizzically up at him. "What do you think I should wear?" He muttered tiredly.

Elizabeta squealed. "I knew you would come around! I was thinking this…" She continued rambling on and on about clothes and whatnot, but honestly, he tuned her out halfway through.

He was already regretting his decision. Arthur would be alone with Alfred for who knows how long. The minute the media found out about this he was a dead man, and he could kiss any chance of getting away from the legacy of Rio goodbye.

He could feel the familiar clamp of anxiety seize him the more the hours passed with no liquor to heal him. And with each second that ticked the more vivid the memories of Rio became.

* * *

 **A.N.- Well, it's been awhile.**

 **A lot has happened since I last updated, and it has led to the delay of this story. I'm not going to go into detail, but the main reason is that all my files got deleted, and I had to restart from scratch. But! I have recovered (somewhat) and will hopefully be posting regularly again. I thank you all for your patience.**

 **But anyway, here it is! This chapter took forever to write, and I still don't feel that great about it. However, it needed to happen, so we can get to the** ** _real_** **drama. Also, side note: IOC stands for the International Olympic Committee.  
**

 **Thanks again for reading!**

 **-Shakespeares Rhapsody**


	8. Chapter Seven: The Hurricane

**_A warning: strong language will be used in this chapter._**

 ** _I do not own anything._**

* * *

With every step he took, Arthur was painstakingly aware of every inch of his immediate surroundings. His black Chuck Taylors echoed against the cool pavement. The sun had already set, but the sky had not been painted the hue of the deep sea yet. Instead, the sun was not willing to say goodbye. Its' fingers stretched across the open air and clashed with the desire of the night. The mixture created a countryside of colors. The brushes of Hibiscus red and pink with dabs of lilac broadcasted a breathtaking view to all the mortals on Earth below. Any other time the Englishman would let himself fall in love with the spectacle. To let the strings of white steal his imagination and take him to people and worlds he could only see in another life. Like the fantasy of a captain commanding the Caribbean. The walk of a nobleman in a garden of Tudor Roses. The hunger of a soldier fighting in a trench.

Arthur was no stranger to getting lost in the lands that would never exist. However, his companion made the idea less than appealing. Not because he didn't want to, but because he was far too uncomfortable to let himself relax.

The archer spared a glance over to the man walking next to him. Alfred was looking up at the sky. The teen hadn't said much since they left the McDonald's- Arthur shuddered at the thought of the boy wolfing down at least four BigMacs -which was unusual for him. He had been as quiet as him. It briefly made him worry if the boy had contracted an illness of some sort. Arthur tried to read what he was thinking but found it useless, as he couldn't see the boy's eyes. In their place, was the reflection of the sky in his glasses. The angle he was standing at made his features more defined from the shadows. This made the boy appear years older.

Arthur turned away from this and regarded a nearby tree. His chest ached as he thought about how much four years can really do. Alfred was a legal adult now. A thought that had not truly imprinted in his mind. It quarreled sharply with the nostalgia of being a 'big brother' to him. But he didn't understand why. He grabbed his left arm and let his fingers roam over his clammy palm for the thousandth time that evening. All these thoughts were not helping his unease.

His eyes had been detecting stares every time they were near other athletes. It made him tense up further with furrowed brows and a clenched jaw. Of course, this was built upon an already foul mood. Elizabeta and Ludwig- after forcing him into a casual outfit that reminded him strongly of his punk days -had shoved him out the door with only a 'good luck Brows!' So far, their wishes had proved to be worthless.

Arthur and Alfred had talked in between bites earlier, but he made sure it never strayed into anything personal. The entire conversation could be boiled down to arguing over the bill, and Alfred's less than elegant eating habits. But with every step further into the Olympic village, his chest became tighter, and his mouth became drier. It wouldn't be too long until Alfred wanted a richer conversation. However, he had resolved that although the swimmer had picked the scene for the battle, Arthur would win it.

"Hey, where are you going, dude?" Alfred's voice sliced through his mind and brought his attention to where the swimmer had stopped. He blinked to adjust to the sight of the American with a bemused expression on his face. It took a bit of his pride away that he was so distracted that he didn't even notice that the teen had sat down on a bench under a few trees. He must have been more out of it than he thought.

His ears turned pink, but he sat himself down next to him with an embarrassed glare. The gap between them spoke volumes. "I was going back to my room. You should tell others when you stop to take a rest, you know. It's rude otherwise, you git," he muttered and crossed his ankles.

"I did tell you, dude. I can't help it if you were off with the fairies again," Alfred laughed and readjusted himself.

Arthur's ears became more inflamed. "Well at least the fairies are a better companion than you are this evening." A smug confidence radiated from him from the insult, and he looked over at the teen.

He was surprised to see that Alfred appeared… hurt? "Yeah, we haven't really talked much tonight, have we?"

The Brit swallowed and shrugged. He hadn't thought the teen would be so considerate to notice, but the creases on his forehead broadcasted the idea that for once Arthur had the purity of Alfred's attention. The thought had his stomach turning. "No, we have not. It's not a big matter. I expected this to happen-"

"But it is though, Artie! I haven't gotten to talk to you in a while. I want to know how you're doing!" Alfred exclaimed, and his voice echoed around them.

Arthur uncrossed his legs, and the two simply soaked in the other for a moment. The Englishman picked at a nail. If Alfred wanted a conversation he would give one to him, but he was not going to get anything from him. "I am fine, Alfred. We have discussed this. I am preparing for my event just like you. I will be going up against my biggest rival, Yong Soo, just like you will be with Francis." He watched Alfred visibly stiffen at the Frog's name. "And I plan on going back home with a gold. Just like you. Is there really anything else that needs to be talked about?"

Alfred paused and tilted his head in thought. He then turned his full body back to Arthur with a grin and pulled his legs up to sit crossed-legged. "Well of course, Artie! You covered all the boring stuff, but now we can really catch up! Like the fact that Mattie got drafted into the NHL! Isn't that awesome!" Alfred threw his hands up in the air and moved his glasses sideways. His enthusiasm was electric.

The Brit's eyes widened. While he was not that big into hockey, he knew that getting into the professional league was no easy task. He briefly wondered why the Canadian hadn't told him and made a note to ask him later. "That's fantastic!" He let a small smile take over. "What team does he play for?" The ear-splitting grin fell immediately and so did Arthur's, and along with it his arms crossed. He didn't try to hide his accusatory tone. "You don't know. Do you?"

"I do! It's… the… Toronto Maple Leafs…? No! Um, the Winnipeg Jets?" He said warily and fixed his glasses. He rubbed the side of his neck and avoided the judgment radiating from the archer.

"You don't remember what team your _twin_ brother plays for?! I don't even like my brothers, but I can still remember where they work, and what they do!" He yelled.

Alfred held up his hands in self-defense. "I know it! It's one of the Canadian teams, I'm sure! I just… can't remember right now," his voice trailed off, and Arthur rolled his eyes.

"You're something else, Jones." Arthur shook his head, but laughed when he saw the pout on the swimmer's face. "Are we throwing a tantrum now?"

"Hey, it's not my fault. Mattie and I don't live together, you know."

The smile turned bittersweet on his face. "I know, but you should still know your own brother's team!"

The American placed his elbows on his knees and propped his head on his fists. When he looked up at him, the angle made his bags look darker. "I do! I just don't remember." He scratched his wrist. "We have gotten to talk more since Mom started homeschooling me, which is cool, but now he wants me to come eat some Ketchup flavored chips or something-"

"Wait. When did your mother start homeschooling you?" Arthur inquired with apprehension. Homeschooling Alfred sounded… peculiar. The idea was not too far of a stretch for him to imagine. A lot of athletes were homeschooled in some form, especially after they started competing in the games. But the teen was too much of a social butterfly to do something like that. He still was, for that matter. He could recall that the fourteen-year-old Alfred scorned the idea when it was brought up, and there was no way the infamously independent boy would back down so easily. So, why did he?

Arthur examined the swimmer and observed him tense up and flick his blue eyes down. "Oh, um, about a year or so after Rio." Arthur tensed, but Alfred didn't notice as he pulled his legs up and hugged them. "It was to focus on swimming and getting into a good college." Just then his eyes lit up, and he put his legs crossed-legged again and leaned closer to the archer. "Speaking of which, did ya hear I got accepted to New York University for Chemical and Biomolecular Engineering?"

The Brit's face flushed at the sudden proximity, as he stared into those sparkling blue. He even ignored his horrible grammar. _Chemical and Biomolecular Engineering?_ Maybe the boy wasn't as big of an idiot as he thought. "Wow, congratulations," he said, and for once he meant it. However, Alfred's words from before had him on edge. Something was wrong with the way he had talked about the homeschooling. It was subtle, but Arthur had seen it clear as day. His eyes had lost their spark for a moment. Arthur wanted to know why.

"Yeah, Mom and Pa are really proud. I start in the fall." He grinned and tapped the Brit. "What about you?" Arthur froze and eyed him cautiously.

"What do you mean?"

Alfred rolled his eyes and leaned closer. "What did you do after Rio?" He said and ran a hand through his hair.

His heart dropped. This is what he had feared. That he would be forced to talk about Rio with Alfred of all people. His ears rang with the sound of his own heart. No. Arthur forced himself to take a deep breath. He was not going to break down again, he couldn't. He _refused._ He was not going to let Alfred back him into a corner. Arthur narrowed his gaze and turned his body away from his companion.

"I practiced. Nothing else."

The swimmer put his legs down and nudged Arthur's shoulder. "Oh, come on. You can't be lame enough to have only practiced-"

"I said I only practiced, Alfred! Now leave me the hell alone!" He snapped at the teen with venom, and Alfred jumped back. His voice echoed in the broken silence of the courtyard.

For a moment they did nothing but stare. Alfred was frozen. Meanwhile, Arthur was struggling to not completely loose it. Finally, Alfred opened his mouth. "Hey, what's your problem? If I crossed some imaginary line, I'm sorry, but I don't know why you are yelling at me."

Arthur gritted his teeth and fought back a hollow laugh. "Of course, you don't know. You never pay attention to anyone else." He stood up. "I'm going back to my room. Goodnight, Alfred."

It was the sound of Alfred's shoes hitting the ground that alerted him, and he turned around to catch the boy mid-reach for his arm. Subconsciously pushing his arm back, he balled his hands into fists. Alfred pulled his back, and his forehead creased from a frown. "I do pay attention, dude. But if you don't tell me what's wrong how the hell am I supposed to read your mind?" His voice sounded drained.

The Brit shook his head. Unbelievable. The boy was that thick. "Maybe it is something you should know, just like Matthew's team. Ever think of that?" He muttered bitterly. Examining the swimmer's face, he watched it twist up as he thought. After a second of realizing that Alfred had no clue, Arthur rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. But after each swallow the rock that formed in his throat made it harder and harder for him to keep cool. "Goodnight, Alfred."

The American appeared taken back at the announcement and looked ready to fight it. However, by the time he could fully process it Arthur was already high-tailing it down the pathway.

He couldn't believe it. After everything that had happened to them Alfred just… forgot? No. Arthur shook his head and crossed his arms. There was no way he could between what had happened, and the damn media coverage about it. How could he possibly forget? Arthur could remember every painstaking detail. The two-hundred free that Alfred won early in the games, and the media attention that came with it. Alfred suddenly becoming best friends with Gilbert and other athletes. Arthur confronting him about it. Alfred avoiding him because of it. The other athletes noticing. The side-taking. The backstabbing. The arguing-

Arthur gasped and stopped where he stood. His breathing came out harsh, and the world became more of a vision than his own reality. If he didn't calm down, he would be sucked back into the past. Already, the image of the fourteen-year-old was beginning to stand in front of him with an uncharacteristic glare forcibly written on his face. No, no, no! He rapidly began to rub his face until it started to lose feeling. Arthur hadn't had a flashback in a while, and if he did he made a point never to remember them. Whiskey had become his friend for a reason. The only sound to be heard was his breathing. In and out. In and out. He swallowed and slowly opened his eyes. The décor of the lobby of his building stared back at him. He couldn't even recall walking in.

The archer let out a breath before walking to the lift. He didn't even notice the receptionist who was staring at him with concern. Arthur only noticed his reflection in the silver of the lift. His skin appeared ashen, and his lips were dry. He looked as exhausted as he mentally felt. The lift opened with a _bing!_ and he stepped in. After clicking for his floor and watching the doors close, Arthur glared at his reflection. That could have been the end of the game for him. He could have thrown it all away right there. Arthur clenched his fists at his own stupidity, while light music played in the background. Alfred was a massive git, but he would not be the reason Arthur didn't come home with the gold. After all, he had to win to prove himself again. He _needed_ to.

A headache had formed when the lift opened again. Arthur strolled out and made his way down the hall toward his room. He already had a game plan in his mind. This dinner had been a mistake, but it was nothing that couldn't be fixed. He would go in, take a shower, drink some chamomile tea, go to bed, and wake up extra early to practice. His muscles screamed at this idea, but he ignored them. While he wanted to sleep in and relax, he knew that if he did that he could kiss any chance he had gone.

It was then he heard a voice echo down the hall. Arthur paused and rose a thick eyebrow. That's odd. So far, he had been pleased by how quiet his neighbors were. Any noise that wasn't an athlete coming or going was peculiar. The Brit made his way further to his room, and a sinking feeling began to grow in his gut. The voice only got louder the closer he got to his room, and he could now make out more than one. Rounding the corner to where his room was, he groaned when he saw that it was currently being blocked by the last people he wanted to see.

Arthur watched the Bad Touch Trio knock several times on his door with teases and taunts.

"West! Come on! You know you want to. We have to show these sissies that we can drink them under the table!" Gilbert's loud voice carried down the hall even with the man laying on the floor and speaking through the small crack.

It wasn't long before Ludwig's voice countered from behind the door. "No! Brother, you know I have an event tomorrow! You don't need to be drinking anyway, it's irresponsible and-"

"Yeah, yeah, you sound just like Father," he grumbled and rolled his eyes.

Antonio jingled the handle and pouted. "Ludwig, you could at least let us in." The Spaniard was dressed nicely in a pair of dark trousers and a loose-fitting shirt. In fact, all of the trio looked decent for once, and not just Francis.

"I'm not letting you all in. I want to go to sleep. Now go away, before I call security!"

"Pfff, you won't call security on me! I'm too awesome for that!" Gilbert laughed on the floor, and a large sigh could be heard. The other two chuckled quietly to themselves at the sound.

Arthur stood there and viewed this interaction with annoyance while weighing his options. On the one hand if he wanted to get to his room, he would have to fight through those three who were being extra irritating tonight. On the other, he could go camp himself somewhere until they left, but Heaven knows how long that will take.

Unfortunately for him, fate had decided a different path, as at that moment Francis peered up and caught sight of the distressed man. He stopped leaning on the wall and beamed. "Mon Lapin!" Arthur froze as suddenly three pairs of eyes took in his form. "Your outfit doesn't look like an old man's for once. Where were you?" Francis' smile turned smug. "Were you on a date?"

"No," he said too quickly.

"You were always terrible at lying." Antonio smiled and examined Arthur's appearance from head to toe. "So, who did you go out with?"

He rolled his eyes and shoved his way past the two. "I was not on a date. I went to a dinner with an acquaintance, and it is none of your businesses to whom it was with. Now, Gilbert move before I kick you," he growled the last part to the man sprawled out on the floor.

Gilbert rolled over to look up at him and was almost laying on his shoes. "I feel pity to whoever your date was, and you can try, but my awesomeness will tackle you to the ground." Arthur scowled and shoved the Prussian off his foot to reach his door.

While he fumbled with his keycard, and Gilbert was being helped up by Antonio, Francis leaned up against the doorframe to his left. "Did your date not go well?" He muttered and moved a piece of his hair away. Arthur paused his movements and let a glare speak for him. The Frenchman whistled. "That bad? Well, if it would have been me, you and I would be tangled in-"

"Keep your horny fantasies to yourself, Frog." He growled. "And for the last time I was not on a date," he mumbled and went back to his original task.

He could see Francis watching him from the corner of his view. It was a bit unnerving, and it did not help his mood. The archer had no greater desire than to be in his room. The general headache he got from being around the Trio, and Francis' never-wavering stare was distracting him. He was having a hard time concentrating on the card. The Brit sighed when he dropped it and let his head fall on the door.

"Having a hard time, Rosbif? I can help you," Francis said and elegantly picked up the key. Arthur only looked at him and received a smile in reply. The smile only pissed him off more.

"Go to hell Francis." The man frowned.

"Well, that's not nice," he muttered, and when Arthur reached for his key he pulled it from his reach. "Non, I'm not giving you this until you tell me what's wrong."

Arthur narrowed his gaze, and Gilbert laughed. "Oh please. We all know that he is only tolerable when drunk."

Standing next to the Prussian, Antonio nodded and crossed his arms. "Si. Remember when we all got together after London? It was one of the few times I actually saw a smile on his face!"

"Speaking of getting drunk, if we want to go we need to leave now. Although, somebody is being a party-pooper!" Gilbert yelled loud enough for his brother to hear. After a beat or so of silence, he pouted and mumbled a few things in German. "Damn, he must have put his headphones in. How lame."

"If I could put headphones in to block you all out I would too," Arthur said and received the finger in reply from Gilbert. Ignoring the display, he turned to Francis. "Give me back my key."

The Frenchman's eyes twinkled. "I will, after you tell big brother all that has happened."

It wasn't just Arthur that groaned this time. "Oh, come on Francis! You know he won't do it, and I want beer!" Gilbert said.

Francis looked between both and seemed to be making up his mind. Arthur kept the same glare on the entire time. If he would just hand over the key literally everyone would be happy, well not Francis, but he wasn't counting him.

When it seemed like he might do it, Antonio spoke up. "Why doesn't he go with us?"

All four of them paused. "Yeah," Gilbert said after a few seconds. "Once we get a few drinks in him he won't be near as annoying. We all will get what we want."

"Ever consider that I don't want to go?" Arthur muttered, but he knew that it was less of a didn't want and more a _should not_.

"Well, you don't have a choice. Let's go, I bet twenty Euros Arthur is the first one drunk!" Gilbert called over his shoulder as he walked toward the elevator.

"Gilbert, wait!" Antonio yelled and quickly followed.

Leaving Francis and Arthur alone.

The Brit stared at his door. He was in a mess right now. His mind ached for him to get the card from Francis and just go relax, and to process everything that happened with Alfred. But his body, that had been wanting a bottle of whiskey for ages now, was currently winning in his thought process.

Francis studied him closely. "Arthur? Are you coming?"

Was he? He wanted to. Boy did he ever. His entire day flashed in his mind. The arguments with Elizabeta, running into Alfred and Jett, Ludwig and Elizabeta dressing him like a doll, the dinner, and the question that haunted him from the same American he so badly wanted to hate. _What did you do after Rio?_ The Englishman bit his lip as a wave of emotions drowned him. He couldn't begin to pinpoint what they were, because each were like a person. All unique, and all strong. It certainly didn't help that the million-dollar smile with childish eyes as blue as candy floss loomed over him. The teen was so desperate to hear an answer, and the idea of telling him consumed his mind in fear. A lump formed in his throat. What did he do after Rio?

What he did now.

Arthur took a step down the hall where the other two had gone. Somewhere in his brain, someone was screaming at him to not do this. To turn away and go to bed. He thought the voice resembled Matthew's for a moment. But a louder part begged for him to go. It had been a while, and he couldn't take these emotions all at once anymore. He turned to look at Francis.

"You're buying the first round."

* * *

Arthur was _incredibly_ drunk.

The Brit heard a grunt as Francis lifted him into a more comfortable position as they walked back to their building. In the distance, Gilbert and Antonio were singing some song horribly off-key. Every so often, one would bump into another and a fit of swearing and fumbled limbs would occur. Each time Arthur found it hilarious.

"Oh, look at them fall again! That's fucking spectacular! Francis? Francis! Did you see them? Isn't it great!" He slurred and giggled to himself.

Francis winced at the loud noise next to his left ear, as he helped support the archer. If he didn't, Arthur would stagger around, fall and get himself hurt, _again._ The swimmer gave a strained smile. "Oui. I did. Like I did the past forty times, but I can't carry all of you," he muttered the last few words with a frown.

The archer observed this behavior with a scrunched-up face. His mind was going unbelievably slow, and it was beginning to annoy him. After a pregnant pause, Arthur bit his lip as it occurred to him what that frown was doing there. Was Francis angry? Francis was never angry! Frogs couldn't get angry, or could they? He narrowed his eyes at the Frenchman. "Are you mad?"

"Non," came his reply. "I'm upset, but I'm not angry."

Arthur tilted his head slightly, and his lip pouted out. "Why are you upset?" His eyes widened. "Is it because you didn't drink? If that's the case, it's your own bloody fault. There was plenty of beer, and we could have ordered you some of your stupid, fancy wines… Say, why the hell didn't you drink?" He glanced over with lazy eyes and could feel the Frenchman's silky hair rub against his face. It, along with the alcohol, was beginning to make his eyes flutter close.

Francis shifted the Brit and watched the other two reach the bottom of the stairs leading to the building. Luckily, they hadn't fallen yet. "I explained this earlier, Lapin. I have an event tomorrow morning. I can't drink. I came to talk and help you all."

"Stop calling me your bunny," he grumbled and glared. That always pissed him off about Francis. He didn't look anything like a rabbit, but he had called him that for years. Frog had been his counter to try to make the swimmer irritated as well. It didn't work. "I'm not a bunny. Why are you upset?" Arthur said.

Francis bit his lip and looked down toward the archer. His silky blue eyes appeared darker in the night, and his lashes seemed to wave as some wind passed by. "I'm upset, because you had too much. It was amusing the first little while, but then you started to cry and told me about Alfred-" Arthur turned his head away as if he had been burned. The sudden action made him stop as the building started dancing, and a cold sweat pressed over his body.

How dare he. He had no right to intrude on personal affairs! It made his blood boil thinking about it. He turned back to the Frenchman. "Excuse you? Who are you to be asking about my-"

"I wasn't finished, Arthur," Francis' tone turned cool. "And to restate what I already said, I did not pry. You told me _everything._ " Arthur stared at him in horror. Everything? What was everything?

Francis had finally managed to drag him over to where the other two were and helped him go up the stairs. Once they reached the top, Francis turned back to him. His expression was deathly serious. "I don't like seeing you that upset. You really need to get your feelings sorted out with our petit américain, before I do," he whispered the last sentence before going over to the doors and herding them all in.

Arthur leaned on him stunned. The look that the swimmer's face held was a rare one. It shocked him but not near as much as his words did. He didn't want to talk to Alfred about their relationship. No. There was nothing to talk about. But the way the Frenchman said, _"before I do,"_ sent ice down his spine. He wasn't for sure what that meant, but whatever it was Francis meant it. Did the Frog care about him? Psssh, he laughed a little to himself. He was only a Frog after all. Frogs don't care about bunnies!

A loud laugh jarred him out of his thoughts. "Man, West missed out tonight! I can't wait to rub it in his face!" Gilbert's voice echoed throughout the lobby as they walked in. It appeared to be empty besides the receptionist, who was giving them dirty looks.

"I just want to go see my Lovi and tell him how much I missed him. He should have gone with us too!" Antonio loudly spoke with wide, tearful eyes. "I should have asked him again. I hope he is not too mad."

"He is always pissed at something, especially you. But more importantly those couches over there look awesome," Gilbert muttered before walking over to a little sitting area and flopping himself on one of the white couches.

"Lovi really is mad all the time, isn't he? I will just have to give him more tomatoes after I take a nap." The Spaniard quickly followed the German's example, and now both were close to falling asleep there.

Arthur peered up at Francis as a long sigh entered the room. The Frenchman was glaring in their direction. "I think I might leave them here," he said.

"You leave them here, and they will definitely get busted. You're lucky I'm not calling security now." Both Francis' and Arthur's heads turned toward the receptionist who appeared more than a little annoyed. His face turned white.

Oh no. She could call the committee and get him kicked off the team! He would be sent back home with nothing to show for it. He would go back disgraced. Already he could see the disgusted faces of his family and countrymen. He would still be the laughing-stock of the Olympic world, and when the reports of this drunken night got out they would immediately right it off as an Alfred problem. His hard work would be swept away _again_ by that stupid Yank. Arthur grabbed the side of Francis' coat with white-knuckles and tried to keep his breathing even. This couldn't be happening. After all the training, he was going to be sent home-

"But they are causing no harm, non? I will make sure they get back to their rooms. That way a breathtaking rose such as you will not have to strain yourself over the matter," Francis said smoothly and winked at her. Great, he thought bitterly, like flirting with the bird will help their current situation.

However, Arthur was flabbergasted to see the woman flush scarlet. "Oh…oh, well I wasn't going to. It would be a shame to see you all go home just yet, specially you. I really can't wait to see you race tomorrow," she muttered and flitted her gaze away. Arthur observed this with his mouth popped open.

"Merci beaucoup mademoiselle for keeping this our little secret," he replied in a low voice. "I will be sure to think about you tomorrow while I am competing, my lovely rose." The receptionist was beet-red now, and Arthur couldn't blame her. The Frenchman was making his voice as silky and seductive as he could, and it was working perfectly. The Englishman never thought he would see the day he was grateful for the Frog's constant flirting, but here we were. That thought alone made his head spin even with out the alcohol pumping through his system.

"It's no trouble," she muttered and played with the cuff of her shirt.

Arthur saw a wide grin spread across the swimmer's stupid mug. He rolled his eyes. There was no doubt that the Snail-Eater was going to gloat about how sexy he was later. "It you don't mind, I'm going to take them up one at a time starting with mon petit ami here. Is that fine?"

"Yes, go ahead. Please be sure you do come back for them soon. My coworker will be coming in to replace me in a few minutes," she said. Francis nodded.

"Okay, I will. I will be back, my rose." He winked at her again before guiding Arthur over to the lifts and clicking the button. The Englishman heard him sigh in relief, and he did as well. "That was close," he whispered. "It looks like my natural charm is not as defective as _some_ people think."

The archer scoffed and whispered back. "Please, I wouldn't call that charm so much as luck." Francis scoffed back. Arthur bit his lip. "Thank you, Francis." His voice was small, and he hoped the man had not heard it.

But he did.

"What was that? I didn't hear you, cher," he teased and wiggled his brows.

The Brit glared and lowered his head. "…. Thank you, Francis."

"You're welcome, mon ami." He smiled and faced back toward the lift. It had stopped on one floor and now was beginning to head down. Arthur didn't catch the number, because it was then a thought came to him.

"Hey Francis?"

"Oui, mon Lapin ? I'm still calling you that by the way," he said with a playful smirk.

Arthur scowled. Damn, if he wasn't leaning on him for support he would have knocked his face in. "I didn't think you would stop. You are annoyingly adamant. I'm more curious on when I became your _petit ami_ ," he growled.

Francis' cheeks turned rosy, and he let out a nervous chuckle. "Oh, that was a slip of the tongue. Like we would ever be-"

 _Ding!_ Just then the lift arrived on their floor, cutting Francis off mid-sentence. The Brit straightened up as much as he could with the help of the swimmer. Before hearing that sweet sound, he hadn't realized how tired he was. The scare of being sent back home had sobered him a bit, but now that he was on his way back toward his bed, sleep sounded lovely. The doors opened, and both men took a step forward only to be halted in their tracks. Arthur's mind struggled to process the image that was suddenly before it. His mind was slow, but it hit him along with Francis' tight grip on his waist. The bespectacled blue eyes that stared back were wide and appeared to be as confused as they were.

"Artie? Francis? What are you two doing down here?" Alfred said after a pause and pushed his glasses further up his nose. They all had left the lift and were standing in the lobby.

Arthur couldn't help it, he could only stare at the teen. Alfred was wearing the same brown coat as earlier, but other than that his intoxicated mind was observing little else. Once it registered in his mind that it was the swimmer in front of him, his emotions quickly betrayed him. A lump formed in his throat, and his voice was raspy. "Could ask you the same thing you… you stupid, American tosser!" He slurred and took satisfaction at seeing the boy appear taken back.

"We were returning back to our rooms after a night-out with Gilbert and Toni," Francis started and gestured toward the other two on the couches. His eyes then narrowed in on his rival. "But I will have to agree with Arthur here. What are you doing down here?"

The young swimmer's eyes darted over to Gil and Toni before coming back to rest on Arthur, who was having a hard time standing on his own. Alfred bit his lip and furrowed his brows. "I was going to go to the café area to check on Jett. We were going to get some snacks and watch a movie before it gets too late. You guys didn't go drinking, did you?" He asked hesitantly.

"They did, I did not. I can't let you be beating me tomorrow, now can I?" Francis challenged and shifted Arthur into a better position. "I need to get him upstairs, if you could move please."

The teen nodded numbly and moved. Arthur avoided Alfred's gaze, but he felt it on him and it made him anxious. Was he mad at him for yelling at him earlier? He paused in horror. Alfred had to be mad at him. Arthur's orbs turned into glossy rain forests as he struggled to hold back the tears that wanted to fall.

Unfortunately, Alfred caught this change.

"Hey, what's wrong Artie?" At this, Francis stopped and looked down to the Englishman. Now both swimmers were staring at him. Arthur had to breathe a few times to get over a tightening in his chest. Alfred stepped forward and made direct eye contact with him. "Artie, are you alright? I can help. What happened?"

He could get lost in Alfred's blue, he decided. They were deep and meaningful, and always were genuine in whatever emotion they carried, but at the same time they could be indecipherable. They were swirls of glacier blue and crystal glass. However, that is not what caught his attention. It was the creases between his brows as he looked at Arthur. The way his mouth was minimally parted. The slight pink in the white of his eyes from the chlorine in the pools.

Arthur took all this in, and somewhere, in the back of his mind, something clicked. That it wasn't _just_ Rio bothering him. It also wasn't the opinions of the other athletes either. The more he thought, the more terrified he became of the answer. That the boy he met in Rio had grown up to be an incredibly handsome man. And that maybe, just maybe, the real reason Arthur gave the teen a hard time wasn't due to what happened. But because he didn't want to admit how attracted he was to the swimmer. All that time trying to avoid him when he was really avoiding his feelings. How taken away he was when he saw his grand entrance at the parade. Why Arthur still held a grudge he _knew_ that Alfred had been right in. It was all to deny what he had known the minute he saw the swimmer in Tokyo.

However, what positive that could have emerged from these thoughts were pushed far into his brain. Instead, he let the fear and frustration morph with his more prominent thought. How angry he was with that ignorant Yank. How insulting it was that he never payed attention and even now pretended to care.

And how much he wanted Alfred to know exactly how he felt.

"How am I? How am I! Like you give a damn, Alfred sodding Jones! All you bloody care about is making sure you look good, and making my life a walking nightmare!" He slurred with each word growing in volume.

Alfred took a step back, and his hands came up slightly. "What? What are you talking about, dude? I do too care. Is this about earlier-?" His face turned soft. "Look if something happened after Rio I don't know about, you could have told me. I won't tell anyone else," he said, and his voice sounded so sincere that in any other given situation he would have believed him.

"Wow, really Alfred?" Francis chuckled, but there was no warmth in it. It held the air of disbelief and was almost as cold as his gaze. "You can't be serious."

"Yeah, I'm serious," Alfred grumbled and glared. "No one told me anything. What happened?"

"I think you are lying," Francis' smooth accent cut through the air. "There is no way you couldn't have heard it. The entire community knows." Arthur's mind grabbed onto that statement and repeated it over and over. Everyone knows. _Everyone knows._ There is no way Alfred couldn't know.

This seemed to fluster the teen. He rubbed the side of his face and seemed to consider the accusation, all the while shifting his gaze back between the two. "Um, I…I guess people forgot to tell me," he mumbled and pushed his glasses up.

" _Bullshit,"_ Arthur spoke almost quietly, but it stopped the air as if it had been screamed. He had pushed Francis away and was using the rage that pulsed through him to help him stand in front of that stupid Yank. "You have to know being as famous as you are here. Not to mention it involves you, -" Alfred's eyes widened "-and being the arrogant bastard that you are you're just using this to further your ego somehow," he growled.

The teen raised an eyebrow, and then he had the nerve to glare back at Arthur. "I'm not trying to do anything for my ego! Just because people know me doesn't mean they tell me everything. I don't know what I did to piss you off, but I really have no idea what you're talking about-"

Arthur's eyes flared. Every rational thought that could have appeared disintegrated on the spot. It was at this point in his drunken rage that he snapped, and he was moving before it even registered in his mind.

A loud bang echoed through the lobby as he slammed the teen into a wall. The sound overshadowed the gasp from the swimmer and the slight scream of the receptionist. His knuckles were white holding onto the coat. A flicker of pain flashed through Alfred's eyes, but Arthur noticed that they quickly changed to something else as they considered his.

"Arthur-!" Francis began and reached for him. It was unfortunate that the Brit wasn't about to budge anytime soon.

"You have no idea, do you? None? Not a clue, Alfred? Well, aren't you the luckiest son of a bitch in the world! I haven't been able to get the damn… _fiasco_ out of my mind for four years! Surely you can't forget how you left me, your older brother, who cared and watched over you from all harm in Rio?" He bellowed across the younger man's face which paled. "Or you can't possibly forget how you brought me a world of embarrassment when you made your so called "independence" a public affair and turned even my own friends against me," he heard a sigh behind him, and he knew the words had struck a blow on Francis.

"Or maybe, best of all, how you abandoned-" he choked on his words and bit his lip. No, he couldn't break. Not now. "-abandoned me after I tried my damn hardest to show you how much I loved you. To make you stay with me. But nothing worked, because you went ahead and walked right out that stupid door and didn't even look back. Do you know how terrible that hurt? I only managed to make it through the games, because I thought that maybe seeing me win would make you want me again. But you never came back," his words verged on hysterical as the hurricane of four years finally landed. Arthur had a hard time breathing with his tears. "So, do you know what I did Alfred?"

He paused, but the swimmer said nothing. Instead, he watched with shuddering breaths as the archer re-arranged his grip in the coat. Arthur gave a chilling laugh. "I fired my trainer and found a nice pub in London. And every time I thought about you, or all the pain I had gone through, I would take a shot. Then another. Then another. I did until I was so pissed, I could barely remember my own name. But you know what? I could still remember you. I could remember the betrayal, your arrogant face, but most of all I remembered your stupid, lightening blue eyes-!"

"Arthur," Alfred began slowly and quietly, "listen, I really am sorry. I didn't know that happened to you. I didn't want to hurt you, I just wanted to go and find out who I was supposed to be. We both know I never would have been able to do that with you hanging over my shoulder. But I'm sorry, dude. I am," he said with conviction. His eyes were brighter as they were glossed over in a mixture of sadness and fright. Arthur wanted to growl. He was lying. He had to be.

"No! You're lying like the dumb Yank you are! I could have let you stand on your own," his voice grew soft. "You didn't have to leave me. I would have let you. We could still be together. You could still be my little brother."

Alfred grimaced at the word and feverishly shook his head. "No, we couldn't. You would never let me go anywhere without you. I'm not your little brother that you always thought was helpless. Which is why I had to leave. I had to make you stop seeing me that way. Artie, I had to make you see-"

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Arthur roared, and Alfred's face turned grim as he realized his mistake too late. The archer shook with rage and held the swimmer with bruising force. His emeralds spat poison. "The only person who could call me that died four years ago when he left."

Arthur watched Alfred's face fall. His voice was like a ghost. "Arti-Arthur, I'm sorry."

The Brit gave a hollow chuckle. "Your apology is too late. You're dead to me, Alfred Jones. You hear that? You're dead to me. You are a selfish, arrogant, stupid, bastard that I wish would leave my life forever by jumping off the nearest bridge." Tears began to fall from the teen's face. "What? Is the Alfred Jones, the sodding hero, crying? Well welcome to my world for the past few years! Bloody hell, I hate you so fucking much. You-you dim-witted, four-eyed piece of American trash. Pretending to know absolutely nothing about what you did to me!" He yelled.

"I'm sorry…" Alfred's voice was a shell and was utterly heartbreaking to listen to "… I'm sorry, but I really _didn't know -_ "

Arthur's fist was up before he even knew it.

His left hand gripped the teen while the right came up to sock him right in the jaw. The swimmer barely had time to react but flinched with…was that…fear? That settled in him wrong. Even though he wanted the teen to pay for what he did, the expression he was giving didn't make him feel powerful. Luckily, the impact never came as Arthur's arm was grabbed and pulled back just before contact would have been made.

The Brit let go of Alfred and nearly fell backwards until his other arm was caught. He stumbled to stand up and turn around. When he did, Francis was standing there looking somber. Arthur's brows furrowed. He knew it. The Frenchman helped the Yank the first time, he should have expected it again. He fought against his hold. "Let me go, Francis!"

"No, Lapin! If you hit him, you will get kicked out of the games!" Francis said and turned Arthur back around, so his back was to his chest and the archer's arms were crossed.

"I don't care anymore! He ruined my life, Francis! He ruined it! You hear that Alfred? You ruined my life!" He yelled to the teen who only stared back.

It was at this point in the commotion that Gilbert finally woke up. He had stumbled up and was looking around with wide eyes. "What the hell is going on?" He asked but was ignored by everyone in the room. Antonio was out cold.

"Arthur, that is enough! You did your damage. Stop it!"

"No, I haven't scratched the surface. Let me go, you stupid Frog! I hate you too! You betrayed me too! You're a piece of shite of a friend!" He tossed back and forth, but the swimmer somehow managed to keep him in a firm hold. Francis said nothing, but as Arthur got one last burst of energy and turned to face him, he saw that the words did not leave him unscathed.

The Frenchman wrestled with him a few more moments before dropping him on the couch next to Gilbert. He pointed a finger to the Prussian. "Don't let him up," he commanded before turning on his heel to speak with the frightened receptionist.

The Englishman glared at the swimmer's back. Who the hell did Francis think he was, dumping here like he was rubbage with Gilbert of all people. He sat himself up and shoved off a drunk Prussian. He stood up. "Francis, I'm going to- oh no." The floor under his feet moved like the ocean, and his legs wobbled like cooked pasta. He held his mouth as the beers, whiskey, and fireball crawled up his throat. His rage-induced sobriety had worn off, and he was feeling the consequences.

He took a few steps backwards doubled over. In the effort not to release the contents of his stomach, the world was quickly becoming a blur. Dimly, he could hear Francis speaking in a hurried tone with the receptionist.

"Please, he is drunk. I will take care of him, just please."

"Mr. Bonnefoy, he assaulted another athlete. The drunkenness was a bit much to ignore, but this is another matter completely. I cannot ignore it. I will have to report him."

"No! Please, mademoiselle. It will crush him if he can't compete. There has to be something I can do!"

"I'm sorry, but unless Mr. Jones requests against it, I have to. Even then it would be a breach in policy."

Arthur struggled to listen. Ugh, he wanted to lay down. Unfortunately, Gilbert staggered himself away from the couch to where the archer was and grabbed him by the midsection. "Ha! The awesome me caught you-! Ugh! How unawesome!" Arthur had turned and vomited all over the Prussian.

Gilbert stared at the vomit on him in drunken disgust, while Arthur crawled onto the couch and grabbed fistfuls of his hair. "Bloody hell, I feel awful. I want to sleep. Francis? Francis, where are you? I need help sleepin'," he muttered into the fabric.

His breathing was ragged, and the corners of his vision were starting to go dark. The only sound that could be heard was Gilbert's gags, Antonio's snoring, and the desperate attempts Francis was making to keep Arthur out of jail.

"My rose, I will go on as many dates as you want until I leave, but please don't tell."

The receptionist seemed to consider this as there was a pause. "Mr. Bonnefoy, I would love to. However, Mr. Jones…" Her voice faded away in Arthur's mind.

There was another pause. For a second, Arthur thought he had fallen asleep when Francis' voice tore back through the air. His tone was drastically different. "Alfred. Please, if he goes home it will kill him. You and I both know it. I'm sorry for what's happened, but please, don't make his life any harder."

It was quiet again. Gilbert had fallen asleep next to him. The vomit was beginning to smell. Arthur didn't know who was cleaning it up nor did he care. He just wanted to sleep, and he wondered why he wasn't yet.

"…Okay," he could barely hear Alfred. "Please don't tell. I don't…I don't want to hurt him anymore than I already have."

His eyes fluttered shut, but his mind hung onto this thought. Alfred wasn't going to turn him in? Why? And he sounded so devastated. Why was he this saddened? He frowned. However, sleep began to quickly over take him. The last thing he could remember was being picked up and opening his eyes to see a relieved Francis taking him to the lift.

Alfred was nowhere in sight.

* * *

 **A.N- … Hi! This chapter has been in my mind since the beginning stages of this story. I'm so excited to see it finally out. I hope I did it justice. I have never written high emotional conflict before, and I hope it came across well… I would also say I'm sorry, but I'd be lying.**

 **Thank you for reading!**

-ShakespearesRhapsody


	9. Chapter Eight: Forgiveness

**_I do not own anything._**

* * *

His body was tightly nestled in the covers when the sunlight streamed in from the small window in the center of the room and woke the archer from his slumber. It was one of those mornings that made him feel calm for some unexplainable reason. His mind had not thought of any responsibilities he was supposed to do, and instead just let him absorb this one moment in time where everything was right in his life. He didn't want to open his eyes to brace the day, because it was so tranquil.

Then it was all ruined.

The waters of Antarctica washed over his body, and his eyes flew open instantly. Once his vision caught sight of the light, sharp pains shot across his head as his hangover took full effect. He squinted his eyes and stared in confusion at the sudden puddle his bed had turned into. The blankets and pillow were soaked. He grabbed the side of his head and looked up to find the source of the water. He immediately regretted it.

Alfred stood there with an empty bucket at his side, and a murderous intent radiating off every pore of his body. For a moment, neither of them moved. Arthur desperately wished he had a _Tylenol_ but knew better than to reach for one now. Why was Alfred here? The night was a blur, but it was slowly coming back to him. However, he could only remember the bar with the Trio. What else had he done? Damn, he winced. So much for his sobriety.

Another panic quickly filled him. What did he say? Did he tell Alfred about Rio? Dread coursed through his veins. He must have, why else was the boy here? More importantly, why was he angry enough to wake him? Arthur's brows furrowed. If he had said anything, why was Alfred angry? If anyone should be, it should be him.

Arthur glared as well as he could with his hangover. "Why the hell did you do that for?"

The teen's nose flared. "Why did I do it? Why? Oh, maybe because not only did you go drinking, but because you became a total hoser last night!" He yelled, and Arthur winced from the noise.

"Why do you care about my drinking? It's never been your concern before, Alfred. I don't remember what happened last night, so I can't speak for my actions, but you deserve whatever I said about Rio," he said and watched the teen still.

He appeared taken back, and the Brit felt a rush of satisfaction go through him. He managed to land a blow on Alfred Jones. But then Alfred's expression became lethal, and he came to stand mere centimeters away from the archer's face.

"Arthur," his voice was calm, but it made a chill run through the Englishman. "You guessed wrong. Look again."

He raised an eyebrow but did what he was told. The vibe Alfred was giving off was unsettling. Frankly, he never knew the boy could be this serious. He scanned over everything from the bucket to his glasses. What was he supposed to see? He then looked beyond the glasses and into the teen's eyes. His heart made a _thump_ sound when it fell, as he realized that the color was not Alfred's blue.

Instead, they were a light purple.

"Matthew…?" He asked hesitantly. The Canadian nodded slowly, and then the Brit suddenly found himself pinned to his own bed. He groaned as a hammer pounded in his brain. Matthew glared over him, as his hair fell on either side of his face. "Matthew, what did I-"

"Do?" Matthew finished, and Arthur's face went pale. He didn't think the teen could yell. "Well, like I said you went drinking for one, which I am pissed enough about already, but I'm angrier over what you did to Al."

Arthur blinked rapidly. What had he possibly done to Alfred to make Matthew this upset? He boldly met Matthew's eyes. It didn't matter if the boy had him pinned down, he was not going to back down in his own room. "What do you mean?"

Matthew took a shaky breath and released his grip. Arthur watched him sit back on his legs and push his hair back. He was biting his lips and had his jaw clenched. The Brit slowly pulled himself up and winced as a streak of pain raced through his temple.

Finally, after what seemed to be forever, the teen sighed and looked at him. His tone was somber. "I got a phone call at about twelve or so last night from Jett. Apparently, he had brought back food for him and Al to eat and watch a movie with but had entered to find nobody there. After sitting everything down, and about to call, Al ran in." Matthew's voice softened. "According to Jett, Al had come in sobbing and ran into the bathroom. He tried to go in after him, but Al had locked the door and wasn't responding to him."

"So, I rush there to find Jett trying to talk to him through the door. I told him to go put the movie in and calm down. After he left, I managed to get Al to open the door and sat next to him." At this Matthew glared at him with no mercy. "He looked awful. Like he had been crying for hours. I asked him what was wrong, and do you know what he told me, Arthur?" The Brit stared wide-eyed in response. "He said that he had run into you and Francis in the lobby. That he had gotten concerned seeing you so drunk and upset. But then you got angry at him, and he didn't know why. When he told you that, you got even more upset and pinned him to a wall. Then you proceeded to tear him to pieces about Rio and his independence." Arthur's heart hammered. He had told him. He really had told him.

He rubbed his neck, and as he did the rest of the night came back to him. It was blurry, and there were still parts that didn't make sense, but he remembered. He remembered the entire conflict. The Englishman's body went still. His mind was having a hard time coping with the idea that he had told him. A mixture of dread and regret was beginning to cause his stomach to hurt. He never had wanted the boy to find out, and if he ever did, he never wanted it to be like this. Arthur closed his eyes. He had really fucked up this time. He was going to get kicked out of the games. There was no question about it. Honestly, it was amazing that he wasn't already on a plane. He could kiss winning the gold and redeeming himself goodbye.

His voice was hollow. "…Why am I still in Tokyo?"

Matthew shrugged. "To be honest, I don't know. The receptionist was going to turn you in, but for some stupid reason Al stopped her. Then he came back up to his room. It took me over an hour to calm him down, and I could tell during the movie he wasn't there. He fell asleep before it even finished. I stayed up all night to keep watch over him."

Arthur rubbed his jaw. He could have been sent home, but Alfred stopped it even after he nearly assaulted him. Why? He had every right to turn him in, and the Brit was perplexed as to why he did not. He examined Matthew. Now that he noticed it, the teens bags were very dark. His shoulders were drooped, and his hair was a mess. The poor boy looked exhausted. Arthur bit his lip as another wave of guilt hit him. Alfred had to hate him now. If Matthew was this angry, Alfred had to be too. For some reason, that hurt him more than he ever thought it would.

In between his confusion over Alfred not reporting him, and his guilt in dragging Matthew into this, he let his heart grow bitter. Alfred could learn to take a few whips every once in a while. Not everyone's life could be as perfect as his. Not to mention, the teen acted like he didn't even know what had happened. That he hadn't hurt him. His fists clenched.

Arthur crossed his arms and huffed. "While I will apologize for the attempted violence and some comments, I do not see anything else I did wrong. You know as well as I that your brother caused unexplainable damage to me both emotionally and physically. He, frankly, deserved-" Arthur's words died in his throat as bruising hands strangled his arms, and a purple haze pierced his soul.

"Deserved it? You think he deserved being beat down like that? While he needed to know, you didn't have to berate him like that, especially after what he went through!" He huffed before stilling. Matthew shifted his eyes, as if he had said too much.

A tightened worry grew across Arthur's chest, and curiosity gave him some newfound confidence. "Matthew," he said. "What happened to Alfred?" The teen shifted uncomfortably. He looked torn, and he kept his face hidden. An anger filled the archer. "Matthew," he said stronger this time. "What happened?"

The teen bit his lip before a sigh echoed around the room. "It's not my place to tell you everything. You can ask Al if you really want to know, but let's just say that not everyone liked him after he got back home from Rio. A group of guys wouldn't leave him alone. I think they were jealous, but either way they made Al's life hell. At first, it wasn't too bad, but after one of the guys went through his locker and found-" Matthew hesitated on his words "-…some things, it got worse. Eventually, Mom pulled him out of school because of it."

Arthur absorbed this information and thought back to the dinner with the swimmer last night. Why he had been put into homeschooling, and the brief flash of the insecure Alfred, suddenly made sense now. The Brit frowned. He knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of teases and taunts better than anyone. His brothers had made sure of that. However, he never thought that the darling-boy Alfred Jones would know anything about it too.

"Well, I suppose neither one of us were well after Rio, after all," he mumbled.

"No kidding. Why do you think I've been trying to get you two to talk to each other this entire time?" Matthew glared.

Arthur looked at him. "You have been trying to get us to talk?"

Matthew nodded. "I was having better luck with Al than you, but he still is too embarrassed to tell you everything."

The Brit rubbed his temples. Alfred was just trying to open up to him this entire time, and he ended up being a twat about it all. His headache grew stronger, and he winced as he thought more on what he had been told. He frowned. "That still does not explain how your brother doesn't know what happened with his 'independence' scandal." He raised his voice. "You surely can't expect me to forgive that wanker after-"

"Al stopped paying attention to the media reports before he left Rio, because they were stressing him out, and causing him not to compete well. When he got home, he didn't because those guys would bother him so much. He just got into the habit of not checking the press when he was put into homeschooling," Matthew said smoothly, and he rose an eyebrow at the archer's tone. He then peered into Arthur's eyes. "Al can be incredibly forgetful but trust me when I say he really didn't know he had hurt you. Believe me, he would never hurt you on purpose."

The archer was not prepared for the sincerity in those lilac eyes or the sound of his heart in his ears. _He would never hurt you on purpose._ What did that mean, and why was he so flattered to hear that? Those words made a memory from last night try to flicker back into his conscious, but it fell back into the pits of his brain before he could fully recall it. So instead, he lingered on the sincerity. He had known Matthew long enough to know when he was being serious or not, and he knew that the boy was telling the truth. Alfred never wanted to hurt him. The concept was hard to grasp with his four-years of spite, and it paralyzed his body in a new fear. That maybe, Rio wasn't caused by anyone but himself. The idea troubled him, and waves of thoughts and emotions tried to become dominant in his mind. It was far too much for an early morning hangover.

Arthur was so deep in his thoughts that he almost didn't see Matthew look at his phone and get up. He stared at him. "Where are you going?"

Matthew glanced at him. "To the Aquatic Center. Al is fixing to compete. I need to get going so I can go watch. I only stopped by to- oh yeah!"

That was the archer's only warning, before he felt an intense pain go through his right cheekbone. Arthur fell back onto his bed clutching his face and swore loudly. Bloody hell, his face was already starting to swell. He peered back to the hockey player, who only smirked and massaged his hand.

Arthur gaped at him "What the fuck? Why?!"

"Dumping me on Francis was one thing, which is why I only hit your shoulder. Hurting my brother is another matter entirely, and I couldn't let it slide. Surely, you can understand. I would say I'm sorry, but I would be lying," he said.

The Englishman gently removed his hand from his face and tried to move his jaw. He winced as a sharp pain combined with his headache. "Yes, I understand. I'm not happy about it, but I understand. I was… a right prick," he mumbled.

"Yeah, you were." Matthew nodded and then turned to leave. "I will see you later Arthur."

He watched him turn and head toward his door. What an eventful morning. He never knew the Canadian could be so intimidating. But he had messed with something very important to the teen. Arthur couldn't say he wouldn't have done the same if he was in his shoes. Alfred was always happy, and to see the teen distraught was unnerving. He could remember back in Rio if the boy would even get a little upset it always made Arthur do almost anything to make the swimmer happy again. Especially, when he didn't compete well because of it—

Arthur's eyes widened. The American would always let his emotions have too much influence in his races. If what he could remember, and what Matthew had told him were any indication, the swimmer was beyond distressed. That would mean there was no way he would do well in his event. Hell, he might not even place.

And it would be all Arthur's fault.

He rapidly stood up from his bed and fought through the sudden wooziness and pain from his head. He needed to get to Alfred before the race started. If the teen lost, he would never forgive him. In truth, Arthur would never forgive himself. The archer was many things, and he still hadn't forgiven the boy for what he did- or allegedly did not do- to him, but he was not going to be the reason Alfred lost. To work that hard for so long for it suddenly to be gone because of someone else? He had been there before. He knew what that felt like. He wouldn't let that happen to Alfred, even if the boy had been the one to help originally cause his pain. The Yank still meant too much to him to hurt him that deeply.

"Matthew! Wait!" The teen turned with a perplexed glance.

"Yes? What's wrong?"

The archer grabbed his shoulders and bore into his eyes with the utmost urgency. "I need you to take me with you to the race."

Matthew took a step back to keep them from falling. "Whoa! What do you mean? I only have one ticket anyway-"

"No. You have to take me down there. You said that Alfred was still upset before you left, correct? Well, if he is fixing to compete, what do you think that means?"

"Um…" He thought for a moment before his face turned pale. "Oh maple, Al is going to lose."

Arthur nodded. "Yes, which is why I need to go with you. I need to make this right before he goes out to race." He let go of the teen and rushed over to his closet. After picking up some simple trousers and a shirt, he turned back to the Canadian.

The teen sighed. "I don't know if that will help either."

He glared at the boy with a raised eyebrow. "And why would it not?"

"Because if Al sees you it might make him more upset," he said.

The Brit paused and looked down at his clothes. Matthew had a point. Depending on how the swimmer was, an apology from him might only make him worse. But he had to try. He ran into the restroom. "But if there is a chance it might work, we have to take it. I will not be the reason why your brother doesn't succeed."

He shut the door and rapidly began changing his wet clothes. Going through his routine as quickly as possible, he could barely hear Matthew's muffled voice from the other side of the door. "I still don't know about this, Arthur. I only have a ticket for me. I don't know how I will get you in. Tickets are sold out-"

Arthur opened the door and scanned the room. That could be a problem, but as he spotted his shoes a memory came to him. "That's a small matter. There is a door that leads directly to the athletes that we can use. Elizabeta and I found it by accident yesterday." He shoved his feet into his _Chuck Taylors_ and turned to face his companion. He was shocked to see a glare directed at him. "What is it?"

"Arthur," Matthew's voice was apprehensive, and he watched the archer skeptically. "Do you realize what will happen if we're caught? You could get suspended and sent home."

The Englishman paused. He was right. Sneaking into an event was a serious offense, and with the fine line he was already walking there was no doubt he would be sent home. He rubbed his neck. Could he give that up? If he was sent home, then he would never get rid of what had happened at Rio. It would always be with him. But as he stared at the Canadian and noticed for the millionth time how much he looked like Alfred, he realized something. What had happened four years ago had made an impact on him only because he let it. He let the entire affair consume his being, until he had become nothing but it. It was the main reason why he came back. It was why he still pushed everyone away. Why he hadn't even enjoyed himself and had only practiced the entire time.

Why he had denied his feelings for Alfred.

His cheeks turned pink as the realization from last night finally settled in. Gosh, was that the reason he had treated the boy so harshly? More importantly, how long had he liked the dumb Yank and not even noticed? Either way, the feelings for the swimmer were there, and as he acknowledged their existence his chest fluttered, and his palms grew sweaty. He shook his head. That was another battle he still had to fully come to terms with. For now, he had to overcome another war. He was not going to let his past determine his life anymore. He was not going to be his own prisoner. He was going to overcome Rio, and he was going to face the root cause of it all.

"If that happens so be it," he said solemnly before heading toward the door. "We need to go if we want to be on time." When he didn't hear footsteps following him, he turned to see the teen still standing there; an empty look was on his face. "Matthew." The teen focused back to him. "Are you waiting on tea with the Queen? Come on let's go!"

The teen stared some more before a wide smile shone through. "Yeah, sorry. I got…I got thinking about something. Let's get going. It will be a fifteen-minute drive over. My Uber driver is outside."

Arthur grabbed his mobile and opened the door. "Alright, let's go."

The two walked out of the room, and Arthur barely remembered to lock it before they were dashing to the lift. When it opened, he nearly smashed the button in. The idea of Alfred hating him forever had an anxious adrenaline pumping through him. He had to get down there. When the doors finally opened to the lobby, Arthur ran into several athletes, but he didn't care. The more they dallied the less time they had to get to the Aquatic Center. Although, he could have sworn he heard a 'sorry' from Matthew behind him as they left.

He located the Uber quickly enough and got in just as fast. Matthew followed behind him. After a brief chat with the driver- who seemed intimidated with Arthur's heated 'hurry the fuck up' glare -they were on their way.

Matthew sighed in the seat next to him. "I don't think pushing past other athletes will help you," he muttered, and Arthur fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"Well, they shouldn't have been standing there."

The teen frowned but didn't say anything. Instead, he pulled out his mobile and continued to watch live coverage of the event. Arthur could see the screen from this angle, and it did little to lessen his heartrate. The athletes weren't out yet, but they were getting dangerously close. It made his head run wild with various scenarios. Would Alfred even forgive him? It was extremely doubtful. If the situation was reversed, Arthur certainly would not. But Alfred wasn't like him…hopefully.

To distract himself, he pulled out his own mobile and unlocked it. The soft blue light from the screen illumined his anguished face perfectly. _Oh shite._ He suppressed a groan. His brother had called and sent a few messages about needing to talk about something important, and he was not too happy about being ignored either. Well, Henry could kiss his arse. He was far too stressed to deal with him right now. The archer noticed that Matthew had sent a few messages too. There even was a cheeky one from Francis asking if he was still drunk. Arthur scowled. If he didn't owe Francis for helping him back to his room last night, he would have punched his stupid mug in.

Despite his irritation with his brother and Francis, their messages did manage to distract him long enough for them to make it to the Aquatic Center. The second they jumped out of the car, Arthur swore out loud. The place was packed with people still desperately trying to get in.

Matthew came up next to him. "Where is the entrance you were talking about again?"

Arthur searched the building for a moment. "It's in the back. Come on," he muttered.

He could feel his blood pumping as they shoved their way through the insufferably loud crowd. There were a lot of people present for the event. Swimming had always been popular, and with the rivalry between Alfred and Francis it was even more of a hot ticket. Which, unfortunately, only made it harder to shove through the swarm. If Matthew hadn't been holding onto his shirt, he would have lost him in the chaos.

Shoving past another person- who yelled curses in a random language -he finally spotted the door. "Oh, thank God," he muttered and made their way to it.

Pulling open the door, he was greeted to a very different sight than before. The area was in constant motion with people coming and going through the hallways and doors. Some carried cameras, some clipboards, and a few tugged around equipment. In fact, there was so much excitement, no one noticed Arthur or Matthew. If anyone did, they would quickly assume they were apart of some organization and dismiss their presence.

Arthur nodded toward the door at the end of the hall. "That way will take us to the locker rooms."

"Well, we better hurry," Matthew said looking at his mobile. "They are starting to call out the athletes."

 _Shit_ , Arthur inwardly cursed. They were out of time. He didn't think as he ran toward the door and left a startled Matthew behind. He couldn't let this happen. He just couldn't.

The door slammed open, and he was instantly greeted by a plethora of people who all stared at him quizzically. All were in various forms of dress ranging from sweatpants to swimming gear. There was no blending in here, and he stood out like a sore thumb.

His cheeks flamed from the sudden attention, and he glared at anyone who dared to meet his gaze. "Well, what the hell are you all looking at? Don't you have an event or something?" He said.

Surprisingly, a few averted their eyes. However, a larger majority were not so easily intimidated. "Who are you, and why are you here?" A coach with an American accent to his left said.

Arthur challenged the coach's gaze and stood straighter. "Who I am is of no concern to you. I need to see-"

That's when Arthur saw him. Alfred was standing right at the edge of the area and was fixing to walk out to compete in front of millions. Jett and Francis had already been called, and any minute now Alfred would be too. He couldn't see the boy's face, but his posture spoke volumes.

Suddenly, it's as if every thought he had vanished. The shame he had crawled up his throat and stopped him from speaking. He barely even noticed Matthew come up behind him, but the coach- and all the others that had been staring -suddenly did. The room became a cluster of different voices in a panic. Some shouting, "Alfred! What the hell are you doing out here!" or, "you need to go get dressed!" Then there were the few who looked beyond confused, as they glanced between the two brothers. While the Brit wasn't pleased about the sudden change, Matthew looked more than a little annoyed as he was encircled. Arthur's heart tugged. Poor lad couldn't catch a break. However, the Brit noticed an opportunity. No one was paying attention to him anymore. Taking his chance, he navigated his way through to Alfred.

The teen had his back to him and the chaos, and Arthur had to fight down stage-fright. If he didn't act soon, the others would figure out it was just Matthew, and he would lose his chance to speak with him. It was now or never.

He cleared his throat. "Alfred."

Somehow over the noise, the swimmer heard him, and he turned around to face him. Arthur was not prepared to see those wide, blue eyes again or the dark bags that encircled him. To any outsider, he would have looked like normal Alfred. But Arthur knew better. His eyes were not as clear of a blue, and even his face seemed to drag under an invisible weight.

"Arti-" Alfred stopped himself, and his eyes hardened. "Sorry. I mean Arthur. What are you doing here?"

That stung. "I…" He opened his mouth but closed it. His throat was clammy. It was so hard for him to swallow his pride. After all these years, he was the one who had to say sorry. But he knew in his heart that it had been his fault in the first place. He had been the one to start everything at Rio, and he had to be the one to finish it too.

They continued staring for a while not saying anything. The room was still in a frenzy around them, but neither payed any mind to it. Arthur was trying to fight down his pink ears and work up an acceptable apology. However, it seemed that time was up when the announcer came on overhead to introduce Alfred. Arthur jumped a little at the sound but was more concerned to see the teen turn to leave. Without a second thought, Arthur grabbed the swimmer's hand. "Alfred! Please wait. I have to tell you something."

The teen stopped, and although he didn't turn, Arthur could tell he was listening. "What is it? If you want to yell at me again you'll have to wait a few minutes, dude," he mumbled. Arthur noted there was no warmth in it either.

His chest began to ache at his words, but he continued. "No, I'm not here to yell. I'm here to… I'm here… I'm-" He swallowed what was left of pride.

Alfred turned to face him. Those beautiful blue tore through his soul. "Here to what?"

He sighed and met those eyes with determination. "I'm here to apologize. For last night and for everything." He couldn't stop as the words tumbled out. "What I did was unacceptable, and I should have told you earlier in a more mature way. I was a…twat, and I wouldn't be surprised if you hate me forever. I know I deserve it, but I hope you can forgive me, because I'm truly sorry." His voice softened as his cheeks turned rosy.

The roar of the crowd filled the silence between them after he spoke. The audience had heard Alfred's name. They were waiting to see if he would win or not.

The swimmer in question wasn't wearing his glasses, and his hair was pulled into his Team USA cap. This made it easier to see every emotion that dared to flicker in the teen. He had softened considerably at hearing the archer's words, and his eyes began to turn glassy as creases formed at the corner of his eyes. "Artie-"

A coach- after finally realizing that Matthew was _not_ Alfred -tore through them. It wasn't until Alfred's coach did so that Arthur realized they had still been holding hands. His face flushed, and his stomach danced with fairies. "Jones! You must get out there! If you wait any longer they will start without you!"

Arthur watched his eyes widen, and he could immediately tell that Alfred really wanted to stay and talk. "Alfred!" The teen and coach turned toward him. "Go on then! Champions aren't born champions, you know!"

Alfred paused as the wheels in his mind processed the words and their meaning, and then a smile that took Arthur's breath away took hold. "You always say that, dude!" Then with that, he turned around and went toward the head of the pool. An explosive applause greeted him as he did so.

Arthur watched him go. His shoulders relaxed as he saw him stand next to the diving blocks, but part of his stomach still churned. Alfred caught his gaze, and a small smile wormed its' way onto the teen's face. Arthur's stomach flipped even more. The hand that had been in Alfred's tingled, and the feeling made his arm numb. His apology was in the air, and what happened now was all up to Alfred. He could do no more. At this point, the Englishman would be personally offended if he lost. Alfred _had_ to win.

It was a rough hand grabbing his upper arm that redirected Arthur's thoughts. Being forcefully turned around, he was met with the angry brown eyes of an Olympic official. Matthew stood warily to the side. "I don't know why you are down here, but you must leave immediately. You nearly interrupted the meet, and you're lucky I haven't called security," he spat.

Arthur narrowed his eyes, and his back tensed. The accusing tone in the man's voice made his blood boil, and if they left now they would miss the match. While the Brit didn't particularly care for the sport, there was no way he came all the way here not to see Alfred do well.

He pulled himself up to his full height and heard a careful 'Arthur' from Matthew. "Excuse me, but we are not going to leave until after the race. Alfred is my…friend? Yes, my friend, and his brother! If we left now we would miss the match! And I don't like your tone, you lily toad wort-"

"Hahaha, that's funny Arthur. Great joke." Matthew placed himself in between the Brit and the now-seething official. "Sir, I apologize. It's been a long day for the both of us. I think what he meant to say was that we would greatly appreciate it if you would let us stay until they were finished, and then we will leave. Right Arthur?" Matthew pointed a passive-aggressive smile in his direction that clearly broadcasted a warning.

Arthur crossed his arms and pouted. The image of getting sent back to London for punching an official flashed in his mind. "I suppose." Matthew glared at him again though not as fiercely as the official.

"Now you listen here, I don't like your attitude. If you don't want me to-"

"Do what? Call bloody security on me?" Arthur challenged.

"Yes, Arthur. He will do that," Matthew whispered.

The man drew close to Arthur. They were mere centimeters away from each other. "I think I will."

Arthur's lips thinned. "Is that a threat? That doesn't stand with the Olympic idea of no-violence, now does it Matthew?"

"Please, leave me out of this."

The official crossed his arms. "You have to leave immediately-"

" _Take your mark."_

All of them- including the coaches and staff quietly watching the display -snapped their attention to the pool. The swimmers were on the blocks. They were ready to dive in. It was hard to see their faces from where he was at, but it was obvious that they were devoid of any emotion. It was hauntingly quiet in the area.

Then the buzzer went off.

The swimmers propelled themselves into the water, and the crowd descended into a horde of noise. Even around him a fog of cheering arose, as the coaches began screaming. Arthur was being held by Matthew, who surprisingly wasn't cheering. However, a quick look to his wide eyes proved that he was in his own way.

Arthur, for the most part, was numb. He was painfully aware of Matthew but little else. The sound had faded to a dull static. The smell of the pool floated through the air, but his eyes anxiously watched the two in front. The water splashed around them. He had no idea how long this race was supposed to be, but it seemed like a moment out of time. As if the universe was granting him an opportunity to let him see what was truly happening. He watched Alfred bring his arms out of the water and shove them down again. His body moved with water, and he would repeat his movements to keep up with the speed it demanded from him. He never looked more at ease than barreling in the water after Francis. It was graceful and electric, and it was as if he could feel all of the teens emotions with each stroke.

Arthur swore it looked like Alfred was flying across the water.

He watched him touch the wall and immediately shove himself back underwater. The boy popped up a little later. He was right on Francis' heels. Arthur wondered if he could even hear anything in the water, or if he even had time to think. He bit his lip.

His heart pounded. It was so close.

Then they all smacked into the wall. Arthur blinked. Who won? He didn't even see it. Matthew let out a gasp. He looked to the score.

Alfred had done it. He had won.

Cheers erupted from the coaching staff and parts of the audience. Matthew had an ecstatic smile on his face. However, it couldn't match the one Alfred had when their eyes met. It was when he took note of Alfred's smile that he realized he had one of his own, but he couldn't help it. The atmosphere was infectious, and the longer that he and Alfred stared at each other, the wider it got.

For some reason- he supposed it was because he felt the gaze on his face -he turned to the left. His green locked onto a blue. A kind very different from Alfred's.

Francis was obviously tired; all the swimmers were. When Arthur caught his stare, he continued to smile, but it wasn't as bold. However, Francis ignored his smile and only continued to stare. Arthur frowned and raised a brow. Why was the Frog looking at him like that?

The swimmers were getting out of the pool and heading their way. Arthur watched Alfred walk next to Francis and good-naturedly shake his hand. However, the shake quickly turned into a hostile grip as Francis muttered something to him. The teen frowned, and he whispered something back and continued to walk with the Frenchman. Both walked right passed the reporters nearby like they weren't even there, which was unusual. Each swimmer had always loved going on camera. The fact that they didn't even acknowledge the press was out of character. Arthur's brows narrowed. He looked over to Matthew, who was equally perplexed. The swimmers slowly filed back into the area they were in with Alfred and Francis in the back. The closer they got, the louder they became. It was once they were out of the view of the public audience and main cameras, that the air cooled significantly. The hairs on Arthur's neck rose. He heard an audible gasp from multiple people when Alfred shoved Francis off him.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about!" He yelled, and a crowd began to form around them.

Arthur and Matthew were shoved to the back along with some reporters who were desperately trying to get footage of whatever was happening. Matthew bit his lip. "Arthur, do you know what's going on? Can you see?"

He shook his head. "No, I can't, but we are going to. Come on," he muttered and grabbed the Canadian before forcing them through the crowd.

It took a moment- and a lot of swears -but they managed to make it to the front. It wasn't ideal to be stuck between a wet swimmer and an over-weight coach, but it gave him a view. Arthur's eyes bulged when he saw them. Francis and Alfred were in a shouting match, and their fingers were pointed accusingly to the other. Alfred's cheeks were a vivid shade of red. Francis had taken his cap off, and his hair was a wild mess. The Brit blinked a few times. He had _never_ seen either of them like this.

"—dude! I don't know what you want from me! I didn't do anything to you-!"

"Non, that's where you are wrong, Alfred," Francis' voice was steel. "You have purposefully ruined everything for me! To think I actually helped you in Rio makes me angry now!"

Alfred's jaw opened in outrage. "What are you even talking about? You keep talking in circles. I have never done anything to you on purpose! What did I do to you?!"

"You took away every opportunity I have ever had!" Francis ran a shaky hand through his hair. He winced as he went through a few tangles.

"What do you mean?" Alfred asked.

Francis nearly growled at him. "My opportunity to win. To make my country proud! To make my-" His lip quivered. Arthur stared at him. He didn't like the look the Frog had. He had seen it before, but he couldn't remember where. Although, he knew it wasn't good.

The teen rose an eyebrow. "Who? And I didn't do anything! We had a fair race. I can't help that you lost-"

The battle cry reached his ears before he realized Francis had tackled Alfred.

The room rapidly descended into utter chaos. Several people were yelling at each other, and others were trying to get closer to the two swimmers, who were now yelling and shaking each other on the floor. Arthur paused before clenching his fists and shoving through to them. What the hell were they _doing?_ They were going to get kicked out after all that hard work? They could be so stupid.

He finally made it over, and he could barely make out the swearing in both English and French as the two wrestled with each other. Matthew appeared next to him. "What do we do?"

Arthur examined the situation and could only think of one solution: they had to get the two away from each other. "Matthew, grab Francis," he ordered and reached for Alfred.

The hockey player appeared taken back but followed the command anyway. Arthur watched Matthew rip Francis away from Alfred and struggle to hold him. Alfred tried to stand up to go after him, but Arthur wrapped his arms around him and pulled him away. Bloody hell, had Alfred always been this strong? It was taking all his might to hold the boy down. Meanwhile, everyone else was being very unhelpful. Alfred and Francis' coaches were arguing with each other and the Olympic official. Other swimmers had begun arguing in the madness of it all, and the security that was there was too busy trying to keep the other swimmers from fighting to focus on Alfred and Francis. The only one who wasn't in the chaos was Jett, who was staring wide-eyed at the whole spectacle around him.

Arthur rolled his eyes and grunted as Alfred fought against him. "Jett!" The teen looked at him. "Make yourself useful and help us, you wanker!"

"Oh, yeah, right!" The Aussie ran over and helped Arthur pull Alfred back into the hallway he and Matthew had ran through earlier. Luckily, it had cleared out, and as soon as the door shut, it was just the three of them. Jett let go of his fellow swimmer and pointed back to the door. "I'm going to go help. Yell if you need me," he said and fled back out into the chaos.

Then, it was quiet, and the only sounds that could be heard was their breathing and the muffled yells on the other side.

Arthur huffed a few more times. Blimey, he didn't need to go to the gym today that was for sure. He looked up at the teen. Alfred's breaths were more raggedy. His face was flushed, and his cap was half-way on his head. The hair that was exposed stuck out in every direction. He wasn't looking at him. Instead, the teen was focused solely on the door.

The Brit collected a few breaths and swallowed. "Alfred," he muttered and was annoyed to see the teen ignore him. "Alfred." He tried again. "Alfred… ALFRED!"

That finally got his attention as the swimmer jumped and turned. Arthur was startled to see that his eyes were almost wild and looked as if they had been in a different world entirely. "Wha…?"

"Alfred, what the hell was that? What were you thinking?!" He yelled and glared at him.

The teen blinked. "Yeah… um, I don't…."

"You don't what? You never think things through! You could have gotten hurt, you twat! What would I have done then?"

"Yell at me more, like you're doing now," he mumbled, and Arthur closed his mouth and could feel his face pale. He had just apologized to the lad, and here he was yelling at him again.

Arthur studied his shoes. "Yes, well… I'm sorry."

Neither of them said anything, and his words hung in the air over them. The Brit sighed. It had been a long day. His head still ached, and his adrenaline was still coursing through him after the fiasco in the lobby. He wondered what was happening in there.

"Do you mean it?" Alfred whispered and scared Arthur out of his thoughts.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Do you mean it? That you're sorry?" His voice was still soft.

Arthur stared at him. His eyes were back to normal now, just as breath-taking as ever. His hair was still wet from the pool. This was an important question, he realized. Alfred was asking him about more than his simple 'sorry' a second ago.

He could see the specks of silver in the teen's eyes as he nodded. "I do." Alfred didn't say anything. He just stood there and simply studied him, and Arthur's cheeks turned pink. The boy was sometimes so easy to read, but in moments like this it was as if he was staring at a wall. The weight of his words carried in the air, and he wondered if Alfred's mouth was as dry as his.

"Me too." Arthur's brows furrowed.

"Excuse me?"

Alfred gave a small smile and bit his lip. "I'm sorry too. I didn't know I hurt you that badly at Rio. I never wanted to hurt you, I just wanted to… stand on my own. I'm sorry I couldn't do that without hurting you."

His heart fluttered. He never believed he would hear those words. After all this time, he _finally_ got to hear it. Arthur breathed out, and it was if a weight was lifted off him. "Thank you," he whispered.

The swimmer shrugged. "It's no problem, dude. It's long overdue anyways." There was a pause where both relished in the moment. "So..." Arthur looked up. "Can I call you Artie again?"

The archer snorted. "Don't push it, you Yank."

"Alright…Artie." Alfred laughed, and Arthur looked at the ground to hide a smile. "Hey, Artie. I have a question."

He shook his head. "What Alfred?"

"When did you start hugging me?"

"Hugging you? What on Earth are you gabbing- oh." Arthur's face flamed as he realized that he hadn't let go of the teen since he grabbed him. His shirt was wet from the contact with the swimmer's bare chest. If he was honest with himself, he could have stayed there hugging the teen in the quiet all day. However, his thoughts caught up to his flushed face, and a more demanding and prideful part of his mind pushed the teen to the other side of the room. He ran his hands through his hair several times. "I-I wasn't hugging you! No! I had only grabbed you to stop your ridiculous fight with the Frog!" He stuttered out.

Alfred laughed from the floor where Arthur threw him. "Sure, dude, sure. And I didn't mind the hug, you know." He smiled, and Arthur's heart stopped.

"It wasn't a hug," he mumbled and crossed his arms.

The swimmer stood up and shook his head. He then turned toward the door. His smile faded. "How much trouble do you think I'm in?"

Arthur followed his line of sight and shrugged. "Depends. Why did you two start fighting in the first place?"

"Well… I'm not sure," he said bashfully.

"How can you be unsure on how a fight started?" Arthur rose a brow.

"I don't know!" Alfred threw his hands in the air, and they landed on his sides with a _thump!_ "I went to tell him 'good job,' and he started telling me off! He kept saying something about being a disappointment to someone, and that I took it all away from him. I don't even know who he was talking about!"

The Brit watched the teen carefully and recalled Francis' words to Alfred. Then the look on the Frog's face… Arthur's eyes widened. He knew what it was.

Alfred tilted his head. "What is it?"

Arthur shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I don't think you will get into too much trouble. Maybe fined, but nothing more. I'll deal with Francis."

"Oh okay, that's good. Mom and Pa are still probably going to kill me though," he murmured and rubbed his neck.

The archer tried not to stare as the swimmer's muscles flexed. "I think I would be more concerned with your brother who is dealing with the Frog."

The American's eyes widened. "Oh shit, Mattie's really going to kill me."

"Language, you twat." He shoved the teen lightly in the shoulder and noticed he was still damp from the pool. Arthur couldn't help the smile that tried to emerge when the teen laughed.

"Hey, now. You cuss way more than I do."

"I do not, you arse." He smirked.

"Alright, whatever, dude." Alfred laughed, and a comfortable silence filled the room.

In the distance, Arthur could hear the muffled sounds of the chaos winding down. Sooner or later someone would come and find them to question them about the entire quarrel. Heaven knows how the IOC will feel about this entire ordeal. However, it was calm between him and Alfred. Which was all that mattered right now. It was a nice feeling, one he hadn't had in over four years.

"Say, Arthur?" Arthur's voice cut through the air.

He looked over in surprise. "Yes, Alfred?"

"Do you want to start over?" The teen looked at him with those genuine blue, and they showcased the sincerity in his words.

He studied him and thought about the idea. A new start would be good for them both. While the wounds still hadn't healed completely for either of them, it was a start. Eventually, he let the corner of his mouth lift slightly.

"Yes, I would like that."

* * *

 **A.N.- The amount of revisions this chapter went through is nauseating. I'm still not satisfied with it, but** **c'est** **la vie. I'm so happy you all liked the last chapter though! I was really flattered with some of the reviews, and I want to say again a huge thank you to you all!**

 **We still have a few more chapters left to find out what's going with Francis, and to see Arthur finally get to compete. Let's not forget Alfred and Arthur's reconnect either…**

 **Thank you again for reading!**

-ShakespearesRhapsody


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